(A.  L  A.  ---  ,,    ■:    p 

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HENRY  J.    ROGERS 


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/    Ta.s.ijara 


"ARGONAUT    EDITION"    OF 
THE    WORKS    OF    BRET    HARTE 


A    FIRST    FAMILY    OF 
TASAJARA 

THE  QUEEN  OF  THE   PIRATE  ISLE 


BY 


BRET     HARTE 


ILLUSTRATED 


P.    F.    COLLIER    :zf    SON 

NEW    YORK 


Published  undc-  ty-fo^ai  arrawjej 
the  Uuuu/i  on  Mifflni    Cum,-' 


Copyright  1891 
By  BRET    IIARTE 

Copyright   i8?6 

By  HOUGIITOX,  MIFFLIX  &  COMPAXY 

All  rights  reserved 


DOlN/- 


A  FIEST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 


CHAPTER  1. 

"  It  blows,"  said  Joe  Wingate. 

As  if  to  accent  the  words  of  the  speaker 
a  heavy  gust  of  wind  at  that  moment  shook 
the  loii":  lifi'ht  wooden  structure  which  served 
as  the  general  store  of  Sidon  settlement,  in 
Contra  Costa.  Even  after  it  had  passed  a 
prolonged  whistle  came  through  the  keyhole, 
sides,  and  openings  of  the  closed  glass  front 
doors,  that  served  equally  for  windows,  and 
fdled  the  canvas  ceiling  which  hid  the  roof 
above  like  a  bellying  sail.  A  wave  of  en- 
thusiastic emotion  seemed  to  be  communi- 
cated to  a  line  of  straw  hats  and  sou-westers 
suspended  from  a  cross-beam,  and  swung 
them  with  every  appearance  of  festive  rejoi- 
cing, while  a  few  dusters,  overcoats,  and 
"hickory"'  shirts  hanging  on  the  side  walls 
exhibited  such  marked  though  idiotic  ani- 
mation that  it  had  the  effect  of  a  satirical 

A— Bret  Harte  v.  22 


a  A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

comment  on  the  lazy,  purposeless  figures  of 
the  four  living  inmates  of  the  store. 

Ned  Billings  momentarily  raised  his  head 
and  shouldei'S  depressed  in  the  back  of  his 
wooden  armchair,  glanced  wearily  around, 
said,  "  You  bet,  it 's  no  slouch  of  a  storm," 
and  then  lapsed  again  with  further  extended 
legs  and  an  added  sense  of  comfort. 

Here  the  third  figure,  which  had  been 
leaning  listlessly  against  the  shelves,  putting 
aside  the  arm  of  a  swaying  overcoat  that 
seemed  to  be  emptily  embracing  him,  walked 
slowly  from  behind  the  counter  to  the  door, 
examined  its  fastenings,  and  gazed  at  the 
prospect.  He  was  the  owner  of  the  store,  and 
the  view  was  a  familiar  one,  —  a  long  stretch 
of  treeless  waste  before  him  meeting  an  equal 
stretch  of  dreary  sky  above,  and  night  hover- 
ing somewhere  between  the  two.  This  was 
indicated  by  splashes  of  darker  shadow  as  if 
washed  in  with  india  ink,  and  a  lighter  low- 
lying  streak  that  might  have  been  the  hori- 
zon, but  was  not.  To  the  right,  on  a  line 
with  tlie  front  door  of  the  store,  were  scvei-al 
scattered,  widely  disjiersed  objects,  that,  al- 
though vague  in  outline,  were  ligid  enough 
in  ano^les  to  sujx'rest  sheds  or  barns,  but  cer- 
tainly  not  trees. 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAEA.  3 

"  There 's  a  heap  more  wet  to  come  afore 
the  wiud  goes  down,"  he  said,  glancing  at 
the  sky.     "  Hark  to  that,  now !  " 

They  listened  lazily.  There  was  a  faint 
murmur  from  the  shingles  above  ;  then  sud- 
denly the  whole  window  was  filmed  and 
blurred  as  if  the  entire  prospect  had  been 
wiped  out  with  a  damp  sponge.  The  man 
turned  listlessly  away. 

"  That 's  the  kind  that  soaks  in  ;  thar  won't 
be  much  teamin'  over  Tasajara  for  the  next 
two  weeks,  I  reckon,"  said  the  fourth  lounger, 
who,  seated  on  a  high  barrel,  was  nibbling  — 
albeit  critically  and  fastidiously  —  biscuits 
and  dried  apples  alternately  from  open  boxes 
on  the  counter.  "  It 's  lucky  you  've  got  in 
your  winter  stock,  Harkutt." 

The  shrewd  eyes  of  Mr.  Harkutt,  pro- 
prietor, glanced  at  the  occupation  of  the 
speaker  as  if  even  his  foresight  might  have 
its  possible  drawbacks,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  There  '11  be  no  show  for  Sidon  until 
you  've  got  a  wagon  road  from  here  to  the 
creek,"  said  Billings  languidly,  from  the 
depths  of  his  chair.  "  But  what  's  the  use 
o*  talkin'  ?  Thar  ain't  energy  enough  in  all 
Tasajara  to  build  it.  A  God-forsaken  place, 
that  two   mouths  of  the   year  can  only  be 


4  A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

reached  by  a  mail-rider  once  a  week,  don't 
look  ez  if  it  was  goin'  to  break  its  back 
haulin'  in  goods  and  settlers.  I  tell  ye  what, 
gentlemen,  it  makes  me  sick  I  "  And  ap- 
parently it  had  enfeebled  him  to  the  extent 
of  interfering  with  his  aim  in  that  expectora- 
tion of  disgust  against  the  stove  with  which 
he  concluded  his  sentence. 

"  Why  don't  you  build  it  ?  "  asked  Win- 
gate,  carelessly. 

"  I  would  n't  on  principle,"  said  Billings. 
"  It 's  gov'ment  work.  What  did  wo  whoop 
up  things  here  last  spring  to  elect  Kennedy 
to  the  legislation  for  ?  What  did  I  rig  up 
my  shed  and  a  thousand  feet  of  lumber  for 
benches  at  the  barbecue  for  ?  Why,  to  get 
Kennedy  elected  and  make  him  get  a  bill 
passed  for  the  road  I  That 's  -niy  share  of 
building  it,  if  it  comes  to  that.  And  I  only 
wish  some  folks,  that  blow  enough  about 
what  oughter  be  done  to  bulge  out  that  ceil- 
ing, would  only  do  as  much  as  /have  done 
for  Sidon." 

As  this  remark  seemed  to  have  a  per- 
sonal as  well  as  local  application,  the  store- 
keeper diplomatically  turned  it.  "  There  's 
a  good  many  as  don't  believe  that  a  road 
from  here  to  the  creek  is  going  to  do  any 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA.  5 

good  to  Sidon.  It  's  very  well  to  say  the 
creek  is  au  embarcadero,  but  callin'  it  so 
don't  put  anougli  water  into  it  to  float  a  steam- 
boat from  the  bay,  nor  clear  out  the  reeds 
and  tide.'i  in  it.  Even  if  the  State  builds 
you  roads,  it  ain't  got  no  call  to  make  Tasa- 
jara  Creek  navigable  for  ye  ;  and  as  that 
will  cost  as  much  as  the  road,  I  don't  see 
where  the  money  's  comin'  from  for  both." 

"  There  's  water  enough  in  front  of  'Lige 
Curtis's  shanty,  and  his  location  is  only  a 
mile  along  the  bank,"  returned  Billings. 

"  AVater  enough  for  him  to  laze  away 
his  time  fishin'  when  he  's  sober,  and  deep 
enough  to  drown  him  when  he  's  drunk,"  said 
^Vingate.  "  If  you  call  that  an  emharcadero, 
you  kin  buy  it  any  day  from  'Lige,  —  title, 
possession,  and  shanty  thrown  in,  —  for  a 
demijohn  o'  whiskey." 

The  fourth  man  here  distastefully  threw 
back  a  half-nibbled  biscuit  into  the  box,  and 
languidly  slipped  from  the  barrel  to  the  floor, 
fastidiously  flicking  the  crumbs  from  his 
clothes  as  he  did  so.  ''I  reckon  somebody 
'11  get  it  for  nothing,  if  "Lige  don't  pull  up 
mighty  soon.  He  "11  either  go  off  his  head 
with  jim-jams  or  jump  into  the  creek.  He  's 
about    as  near  desp'rit  as  they  make  'em, 


6  A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAILL 

and  havin'  no  partner  to  look  after  him,  and 
bini  alone  in  the  tules,  ther'  's  no  tellin'  what 
he  may  do." 

Billings,  stretched  at  full  length  in  his 
chair,  here  gurgled  derisively.  "  Desp'rit ! 
—  ketch  him  !  Why,  that 's  his  little  game  ! 
lie  's  jist  playin'  off  his  desp'rit  condition  to 
frighten  Sidou.  AVhenever  any  one  asks 
him  why  he  don't  go  to  work,  whenever  he  's 
hard  up  for  a  drink,  whenever  he  's  had  too 
much  or  too  little,  he  's  workin*  that  desp'rit 
dodge,  and  even  talkin'  o'  killin'  himself ! 
Why,  look  here,"  he  continued,  momentarily 
raising  himself  to  a  sitting  posture  in  his 
disgust,  "  it  was  only  last  week  he  was  over 
at  liawlett's  trying  to  raise  provisions  and 
whiskey  outer  his  water  rights  on  the  creek  ! 
Fact,  sir,  —  had  it  all  written  down  lawyer- 
like on  paper.  Kawlett  did  n't  exactly  see 
it  in  that  light,  and  told  him  so.  Then  he 
up  with  the  desp'rit  dodge  and  began  to  work 
that.  Said  if  he  had  to  starve  in  a  swamp 
like  a  dog  he  might  as  well  kill  himself  at 
once,  and  would  too  if  he  could  afford  the 
we])])ins.  Johnson  said  it  was  not  a  Lad  idea, 
and  offered  to  lend  him  his  revolver  ;  Bilson 
handed  u})  his  shot-gun,  and  left  it  alongside 
of  him,  and  turned  his  head  away  considerate- 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.  7 

like  and  thoughtful  while  Rawlett  handed 
him  a  box  of  rat  pizon  over  the  counter,  in 
case  he  preferred  suthin'  more  quiet.  Well, 
what  did  L<ige  do  ?  Nothiu'  !  Smiled 
kinder  sickly,  looked  sorter  wild,  and  shut 
up.  Pie  did  n't  suicide  much.  No,  sir ! 
lie  did  n't  kill  himself,  —  not  he.  Why,  old 
Bixby  —  and  he  's  a  deacon  in  good  standin' 
—  allowed,  in  'Lige's  hearin'  and  for  "Lige's 
benefit,  that  self-destruction  was  better  nor 
bad  exam])le,  and  proved  it  by  Scripture 
too.  And  yet  'Lige  did  notliin' !  Desp'rit ! 
He  's  only  desp'rit  to  laze  around  and  fish  all 
day  off  a  log  in  the  tules^  and  soak  up  with 
whiskey,  until,  betwixt  fever  an'  ague  and 
the  jumps,  he  kinder  shakes  hisself  free  o' 
responsibility." 

A  long  silence  followed  ;  it  was  somehow 
felt  that  the  subject  was  incongi'uously  ex- 
citing ;  Billings  allowed  himself  to  lapse 
again  behind  tlie  back  of  his  chair.  Mean- 
time it  had  grown  so  dark  that  the  dull  glow 
of  the  stove  was  beginning  to  outline  a  faint 
halo  on  the  ceiling  even  while  it  i)lungcd  the 
further  Ihies  of  shelves  behind  the  counter 
into  greater  obscurity. 

"Time  to  liglit  u]),  Ilarkutt,  ain't  it?" 
said  Wingate,  tentatively. 


8  A   FIEST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

"  Well,  I  was  reckoning  ez  it 's  such  a 
wild  night  there  would  n't  be  any  use  keep- 
in'  open,  and  when  you  fellows  left  I  'd  just 
shut  up  for  good  and  make  things  fast," 
said  llarkutt,  dubiously.  Before  his  guests 
had  time  to  fully  weigh  this  delicate  hint, 
another  gust  of  wind  shook  the  tenement, 
and  even  forced  the  unbolted  upper  part  of 
the  door  to  yield  far  enough  to  admit  an 
eager  current  of  humid  air  that  seemed  to 
justify  the  wisdom  of  Ilarkutt's  suggestion. 
Billings  slowly  and  with  a  sigh  assumed  a 
sittiug  posture  in  the  chair.  The  biscuit- 
nibbler  selected  a  fresh  dainty  from  the 
counter,  and  Wingate  abstractedly  walked 
to  the  window  and  rubbed  the  glass.  Sky 
and  water  had  already  disappeared  behind  a 
curtain  of  darkness  that  was  illuminated  by 
a  single  point  of  light  —  the  lamp  in  the 
window  of  some  invisible  but  nearer  house 
—  which  threw  its  rays  across  the  glistening 
shallows  in  the  road.  "  Well,"  said  Win- 
gate,  buttoning  up  his  coat  in  slow  dejection, 
"  I  reckon  I  oughter  be  travelin'  to  help  the 
old  woman  do  the  chores  before  supper." 
He  had  jiist  recognized  the  light  in  his  own 
dining-room,  and  knew  by  that  sign  that  his 
long-waiting  lielpmeet  had  finally  done  the 
chores  herself. 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.  9 

"  Some  folks  have  it  mighty  easy,"  said 
Billings,  with  long-drawn  discontent,  as  lio 
struggled  to  his  feet.  "  You  've  only  a  step 
to  go,  and  yer  's  me  and  Peters  there  "  — 
indicating  the  biscuit-nibbler,  who  was  be- 
ginning to  show  alarming  signs  of  returning 
to  the  barrel  again — "  hev  got  to  trapse  five 
times  that  distance." 

"  More  'n  half  a  mile,  if  it  comes  to  that," 
said  Peters,  gloomily.  lie  paused  in  putting 
on  his  overcoat  as  if  thinking  better  of  it, 
while  even  the  more  fortunate  and  contigu- 
ous AVingate  languidly  lapsed  against  the 
counter  again. 

The  moment  was  a  critical  one.  Billings 
was  evidently  also  regretfully  eying  the 
cliair  he  had  just  rputted.  Harkutt  re- 
solved on  a  heroic  effort. 

"  Come,  boys,"  he  said,  with  brisk  conviv- 
iality, "  take  a  parting  drink  with  me  be- 
fore you  go."  Producing  a  black  bottle 
from  some  obscurity  bcncatli  the  counter 
that  smelt  strongly  of  india-rubber  boots,  lie 
})laced  it  with  four  glasses  before  his  guests. 
Each  made  a  feint  of  holding  his  j^lass 
against  the  opaque  window  while  filling  it, 
although  nothing  could  be  seen.  A  sudden 
tumult   of   wind   and   rain  airaiu  shook  the 


10         A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAliA. 

building,  but  even  after  it  had  passed  the 
glass  door  still  rattled  violently. 

"  Just  see  what 's  loose,  Peters,"  said  Bil- 
lings ;   "you  're  nearest  it." 

Peters,  still  holding  the  undralned  glass 
in  his  hand,  walked  slowly  towards  it. 

"  It 's  suthin'  —  or  somebody  outside,"  he 
said,  hesitatingly. 

The  three  others  came  eagerly  to  his  side. 
Through  the  glass,  clouded  from  within  by 
their  breath,  and  filmed  from  without  by 
the  rain,  some  vague  object  was  moving,  and 
what  seemed  to  be  a  mop  of  tangled  hair 
was  apparently  brushing  against  the  ])ane. 
The  door  shook  again,  but  less  strongly. 
Billings  pressed  his  face  against  the  glass, 
''llol'  on,"  he  said  in  a  quick  whisper, — 
'*  it 's  'Lige  I  "  But  it  was  too  late.  Ilar- 
kutt  liad  already  drawn  the  lower  bolt,  and 
a,  man  stumbled  from  the  outer  obscurity 
into  tlie  darker  room. 

The  inmates  drew  awa)^  as  he  leaned  back 
for  a  moment  against  the  door  that  closed 
behind  him.  Then  dimly,  but  instinctively, 
discerning  the  glass  of  li(pior  which  Win- 
gate  still  meclianically  held  in  his  hand,  ho 
reached  forward  eagerly,  took  it  from  Win- 
gate's  surprised  and  unresisting  fingers,  and 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA.         H 

ilraiiied  it  at  a  gulp.  The  four  men  laughed 
vaguely,  but  not  as  cheerfully  as  they  might. 

"  I  was  just  shutting  up,"  began  llarkutt, 
dubiously. 

"  I  won't  keep  you  a  minit,"  said  the  in- 
truder, nervously  fumbling  in  the  breast 
pocket  of  his  hickory  shirt.  "  It  's  a  matter 
of  business  —  llarkutt  —  I  "  —  But  he  was 
obliged  to  stop  here  to  wipe  his  face  and 
forehead  with  the  ends  of  a  loose  handker- 
chief tied  round  his  throat.  From  the  ac- 
tion, and  what  could  be  seen  of  his  pale, 
exhausted  face,  it  was  evident  that  the  moist- 
ure upon  it  was  beads  of  perspiration,  and 
not  the  rain  which  some  abnormal  heat  of 
his  body  was  converting  into  vapor  from 
his  sodden  garments  as  he  stood  there. 

"  I  've  got  a  document  here,"  he  began 
again,  producing  a  roll  of  paper  tremblingly 
from  his  pocket,  "  that  I  'd  like  you  to  glance 
over,  and  perhaps  you  'd  "  —  His  voice,  which 
had  been  feverishly  exalted,  here  broke  and 
rattled  with  a  cough. 

Billings,  AVingate,  and  Peters  fell  apart 
and  looked  out  of  the  window.  "  It 's  too 
dark  to  read  anything  now,  'Lige,"  said  llar- 
kutt, with  evasive  good  humor,  "  and  1  ain't 
lightin'  up  to-niglit."' 


12         A  Fin  ST  FAMILY  OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

"  But  I  can  tell  you  the  substance  of  it," 
said  the  man,  with  a  faintuess  that  however 
had  all  the  distinctness  of  a  whisper,  "  if 
you  '11  just  step  inside  a  minute.  It 's  a 
matter  of  importance  and  a  bargain  "  — 

"  I  reckon  we  must  be  goin","  said  Bil- 
lings to  the  others,  with  marked  emphasis. 
"  We  're  keepin'  Ilarkutt  from  shuttin'  up."' 
"  Good  -  night !  "  "  Good -night !  "  added 
Peters  and  AVingate,  ostentatiously  following 
Billings  hurriedly  through  the  door.  "  So 
long !  " 

The  door  closed  behind  them,  leaving 
Ilarkutt  alone  with  his  im])ortunate  intruder. 
Possibly  his  resentment  at  his  customers' 
selfish  al)andonment  of  him  at  this  moment 
develojjcd  a  vague  spirit  of  op])osition  to 
them  and  mitigated  his  feeling  towards  'Lige. 
He  groped  his  way  to  the  counter,  struck  a 
match,  and  lit  a  candle.  Its  feeble  rays 
faintly  illuminated  the  pale,  drawn  face  of 
tlie  applicant,  set  in  a  tangle  of  wet,  un- 
kempt, party-colored  hair.  It  was  not  the 
face  of  an  ordinary  drunkard ;  altliough 
tremulous  and  sensitive  from  some  artificial 
excitement,  there  was  no  cyycforgnnriit  or 
congestion  in  the  features  or  complexion.  ;d- 
bcit  they  were  morbid  and  unhealthy.     Tlie 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.         13 

expression  was  of  a  suffering  that  was  as 
much  mental  as  physical,  and  yet  in  some 
vague  way  appeared  unmeaning  —  and  un- 
heroic. 

"  1  want  to  see  you  about  selling  my  place 
on  the  creek.  I  want  you  to  take  it  off  my 
hands  for  a  bargain.  I  want  to  get  quit 
of  it,  at  once,  for  just  enough  to  take  me 
out  o'  this.  I  don't  want  any  profit;  only 
money  enough  to  get  away."  His  utterance, 
which  had  a  certain  kind  of  cultivation, 
here  grew  thick  and  harsh  again,  and  he 
looked  eagerly  at  the  bottle  which  stood  on 
the  counter. 

"  Look  here,  'Lige,"  said  Harkutt,  not 
unkindly.  "  It 's  too  late  to  do  anythiu'  to- 
night. You  come  in  to-morrow."  lie  would 
have  added  "'  when  you  're  sober,"  but  for 
a  trader's  sense  of  politeness  to  a  possible 
customer,  and  probably  some  doubt  of  the 
man's  actual  condition. 

"  God  knows  where  or  what  I  may  be  to- 
morrow !  It  would  kill  me  to  go  back  and 
spend  another  night  as  the  last,  if  I  don't 
kill  myself  on  the  way  to  do  it." 

Harkutt's  face  darkened  grimly.  It  was 
indeed  as  Billings  liad  said.  The  pitiable 
weakness    of   the   man's   manner   not   only 


14         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA. 

made  his  desperation  inadequate  and  inef- 
fective, but  even  lent  it  all  the  cheapness  of 
actins:.  And,  as  if  to  accent  his  simulation 
of  a  part,  his  fingers,  feebly  groping  in  his 
shirt  bosom,  slipped  aimlessly  and  helplessly 
from  the  shining  handle  of  a  pistol  in  his 
pocket  to  wander  hesitatingly  towards  the 
bottle  on  the  counter. 

Harkutt  took  the  bottle,  poured  out  a 
glass  of  the  liquor,  and  pushed  it  before  his 
companion,  who  drank  it  eagerly.  Whether 
it  gave  him  more  confidence,  or  his  attention 
was  no  longer  diverted,  he  went  on  more 
collectedly  and  cheerfully,  and  with  no  trace 
of  his  previous  desperation  in  his  maimer. 
"  Come,  Harkutt,  buy  my  place.  It  \s  a 
bargain,  I  tell  you.  I  "11  sell  it  cheap.  I 
only  want  enough  to  get  away  with.  Give 
me  twenty-five  dollars  and  it 's  yours.  See, 
there  's  the  papers  —  the  quitclaim  —  all 
drawn  up  and  signed."'  lie  drew  the  roll 
of  paper  from  his  pocket  again,  apparently 
forgetful  of  the  adjacent  weapon. 

"  Look  here,  "Lige,"  said  Harkutt,  with  a 
business-like  straightening  of  his  lips,  "  I 
ain't  buyin'  any  land  in  Tasajara,  —  least  of 
all  yours  on  the  creek.  I  've  got  more  in- 
vested here  already  than  1  '11  ever  get  back 


A    FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJAKA.         15 

again.  But  1  tell  you  what  1  '11  do.  You 
say  you  cant  go  back  to  your  shanty. 
\W'll,  seein'  how  rough  it  is  outside,  and 
that  the  waters  of  the  creek  are  probably  all 
over  the  trail  l)y  this  time,  I  reckon  you  're 
about  right.  Now,  there  's  five  dollars  !  " 
Wa  laid  down  a  coin  sharply  on  the  counter. 
'•  Take  that  and  go  over  to  Kawlett's  and 
get  a  bed  and  some  supper.  In  the  mornin' 
you  may  be  able  to  strike  up  a  trade  with 
somebody  else  —  or  change  your  mind. 
How  did  you  get  here?  On  your  boss?  " 
-  Yes." 

"lie  ain't  starved  yet?" 
''  No  ;  he  can  eat  gTass.  I  can't." 
Either  the  liquor  or  Ilarkutt's  practical 
unsentimental  treatment  of  the  situation 
seemed  to  give  him  confidence,  lie  met 
Ilarkutt's  eye  more  steadily  as  the  latter 
went  on.  "You  kin  turn  your  boss  for  the 
night  into  my  stock  corral  next  to  Kaw- 
lett's. It  '11  save  you  payin'  for  fodder  and 
stablin'.'' 

The  man  took  up  the  coin  with  a  cer- 
tain slow  gravity  which  was  almost  like  dig- 
nity. "  Thank  you,"  he  said,  laying  the 
paper  on  the  counter.  '"  I  "11  leave  that  as 
seciu-ity." 


16         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

"  Don't  want  it,  'Lige,"  said  Ilarkutt, 
pushing  it  back. 

"  I  'd  rather  leave  it." 

"  But  suppose  you  have  a  chance  to  sell 
it  to  somebody  at  Rawlett's  ? "  continued 
Harkutt,  with  a  precaution  that  seemed 
ironical. 

"  I  don't  think  there  's  much  chance  of 
that." 

He  remained  quiet,  looking  at  Ilarkutt 
with  an  odd  expression  as  he  rubbed  the 
edge  of  the  coin  that  he  held  between  his 
fingers  abstractedly  on  the  counter.  Some- 
thing in  his  gaze  —  rather  perhaps  the 
apparent  absence  of  anything  in  it  approxi- 
mate to  the  present  occasion  —  was  begin- 
ning^ to  affect  Ilarkutt  with  a  vajj^ue  uneasi- 
ness.  Providentially  a  resumed  onslaught 
of  wind  and  rain  against  the  panes  effected 
a  diversion.  "  Come,"  he  said,  with  brisk 
practicality,  "  you  'd  better  hurry  on  to 
Ilawlett's  before  it  gets  worse.  Have  your 
clothes  dried  by  his  fire,  take  suthin'  to  eat, 
and  you  '11  be  all  right."  He  rubbed  his 
hands  cheerfully,  as  if  summarily  disposing 
of  the  situation,  and  incidentally  of  all 
'Lige's  troubles,  and  walked  with  him  to  the 
door.     Nevertheless,  as  the  man's  look  re- 


A  FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASA.IAKA.         17 

mained  uncliangcd,  lie  hesitated  a  moment 
with  his  hand  on  the  handle,  in  the  h(^pe 
that  he  would  say  something,  even  if  only  to 
repeat  his  appeal,  but  he  did  not.  Then 
Ilarkutt  opened  the  door ;  the  man  moved 
mechanically  out,  and  at  the  distance  of  a 
few  feet  seemed  to  melt  into  the  rain  and 
darkness.  Ilarkutt  remained  for  a  moment 
with  his  face  pressed  against  the  glass. 
After  an  interval  he  thought  he  heard  the 
faint  splash  of  hoofs  in  the  shallows  of  the 
road  ;  he  opened  the  door  softly  and  looked 
out. 

The  light  liad  disappeared  from  the  near- 
est house  ;  onl}'  an  uncertain  bulk  of  shape- 
less shadows  remained.  Other  remoter  and 
more  vague  outlines  near  the  horizon  seemed 
to  have  a  funereal  suggestion  of  tombs  and 
grave  mounds,  and  one  —  a  low  shed  near 
the  road  —  looked  not  unlike  a  h.alted  l)ier. 
He  hurriedly  put  u])  the  shutters  in  a  mo- 
mentary lulling  (»f  the  wind,  and  reentering 
the  store  began  to  fasten  them  from  within. 

While  thus  engaged  an  inner  door  behind 
the  counter  o))ened  softly  and  cautiously, 
projecting  a  briglitcr  light  into  tlie  deserted 
apartment  from  some  sacred  domestic  inte- 
rior with  the  warm  and  wholesome  incense 


18         A   FIJiST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

of  cooking.  It  served  to  introduce  also  the 
equally  agreeable  presence  of  a  young  girl, 
who,  after  assuring  herbelf  of  the  absence  of 
every  one  but  the  proprietor,  idly  slipped 
into  the  store,  and  placing  her  rounded  el- 
bows, from  which  her  sleeves  were  uprolled, 
upon  the  counter,  leaned  lazily  upon  them, 
with  both  hands  supporting  her  dimpled 
chin,  and  gazed  indolently  at  him  ;  so  in- 
dolently that,  with  her  pretty  face  once  fixed 
in  this  comfortable  attitude,  slie  was  con- 
strained to  follow  his  movements  with  lier 
eyes  alone,  and  often  at  an  uncomfortable 
angle.  It  was  evident  that  she  offered  the 
fhiul  but  cliai'ming  illustration  of  the  enfee- 
bling Hstlessness  of  Sidon. 

"  So  those  loafers  have  gone  at  last,"  she 
said,  meditatively.  '•  They  '11  take  root  liere 
some  day.  pop.  The  idea  of  three  strong 
men  like  that  lazing  round  for  two  mortal 
hours  doin'  notliin'.  AVell  I  "  As  if  to 
emphasize  lier  disgust  she  threw  her  whole 
weiglit  upon  the  counter  by  swinging  her 
feet  from  the  floor  to  touch  the  shelves  be- 
hind her. 

Mr.  llarkutt  only  replied  by  a  slight 
grunt  as  he  conthiued  to  screw  on  the  shut- 
ters. 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T AS  AJAR  A.         19 

"  Want  me  to  help  you,  dad  ?  "  she  said, 
without  moving. 

Mr.  Harkutt  muttered  something  unintel- 
ligible, which,  however,  seemed  to  imply  a 
negative,  and  her  attention  here  feebly  wan- 
dered to  the  roll  o£  paper,  and  she  began 
slowly  and  lazily  to  read  it  aloud. 

"  '  For  value  received,  I  hereby  sell,  as- 
sign, and  transfer  to  Daniel  D.  Harkutt  all 
my  right,  title,  and  interest  in,  and  to  the 
undivided  half  of,  Quarter  Section  4,  Kange 
5,  Tasajara  Township  '  —  hum  —  hum,"  she 
murmured,  running  her  eyes  to  the  bottom 
of  the  page.  "  Why,  Lord !  It  's  that 
"Lige  Curtis!  "  she  laughed.  "The  idea  of 
h'u)i  having  property !  Why,  dad,  you  ain't 
been  tJxit  silly  I  " 

"  Put  down  that  paper,  miss,"  he  said,  ag- 
grievedly  ;  "  bring  the  candle  here,  and  help 
mc  to  find  one  of  these  infernal  screws  that 's 
dropped." 

The  girl  indolently  disengaged  herself 
from  the  counter  and  Elijah  Curtis's  trans- 
fer, and  brought  the  candle  to  her  father. 
The  screw  was  presently  found  and  the  last 
fastening  secured.  "  Su})per  gettin'  cold, 
dad,''  she  said,  with  a  slight  yawn.  Her 
father  sympathetically  responded  by  stretch- 


20        A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA, 

ing  himself  from  his  stooping  position,  and 
the  two  passed  through  the  private  door  into 
inner  domesticity,  leaving  the  already  for- 
gotten paper  lying  with  other  articles  of 
barter  on  the  counter. 


CHAPTER  n. 

With  the  closing  of  the  little  door  be- 
hind them  they  seemed  to  have  shut  out  the 
turmoil  and  vibration  of  the  storm.  The 
reason  became  apparent  when,  after  a  few 
paces,  they  descended  half  a  dozen  steps  to  a 
lower  landing-.  This  disclosed  the  fact  that 
the  dwelling  part  of  the  Sidon  General  Store 
was  quite  below  the  level  of  the  shop  and 
the  road,  and  on  the  slope  of  the  solitary 
undulation  of  the  Tasajara  plain,  —  a  little 
ravine  tliat  fell  away  to  a  brawling  stream 
below.  The  only  arboreous  growth  of  Tasa- 
jara clothed  its  banks  in  the  shape  of  wil- 
lows and  alders  that  set  compactly  around 
the  quaint,  irregular  dwelling  which  strag- 
gled down  the  ravine  and  looked  upon  a 
slope  of  bracken  and  foliage  on  either  side. 
The  transition  from  the  black,  treeless,  storm- 
swept  plain  t(j  this  sheltered  declivity  was 
striking  and  suggestive.  From  the  opposite 
bank  one  miglit  fancy  tliat  the  youthful  and 
original  dwelling  had  ambitiously  mounted 


22        A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T  AS  AJAR  A. 

the  crest,  but,  appalled  at  the  dreary  pros- 
pect be3^ond,  had  gone  no  further ;  while 
from  the  road  it  seemed  as  if  the  fastidious 
proi)riotor  had  tried  to  draw  a  line  between 
the  vulgar  trading-post,  with  which  he  was 
obliged  to  face  the  coarser  civilization  of 
the  place,  and  the  privacy  of  his  domestic 
life.  The  real  fact,  however,  was  that  the 
ravine  furnished  wood  and  water ;  and  as 
Nature  also  provided  one  wall  of  the  house, 
—  as  in  the  well-known  example  of  abori- 
ginal cave  dwellings,  —  its  peculiar  construc- 
tion commended  itself  to  Sidon  on  the 
ground  of  involving  little  labor. 

Howbeit,  from  the  two  open  windows  of 
the  sitting-room  which  they  had  entered  only 
the  faint  pattering  of  dripping  boughs  and  a 
slight  murmur  from  the  swollen  brook  indi- 
cated the  storm  that  shook  the  upper  plain, 
and  the  cool  breath  of  laurel,  syringa,  and 
alder  was  wafted  through  the  neat  apart- 
ment. Passing  through  that  pleasant  rural 
atmosphere  they  entered  the  kitchen,  a  much 
larger  room,  which  appeared  to  serve  occa- 
sionally as  a  dining-room,  and  where  supper 
was  already  laid  out.  A  stout,  comfortable- 
looking  woman  —  who  liacl,  however,  a  singu- 
larly permanent  expression  of  pained  sympa- 


A    FIRST  FA.MIL  r    OF    TASAJAUA.         23 

thy  upon  her  face  —  welcomed  them  in  tones 
of  gentle  commiseration. 

"  Ah,  there  you  be,  you  two  !  Now  sit  ye 
right  down,  dears  ;  do.  You  must  be  tired 
out :  and  you,  Phemie,  love,  draw  up  by  your 
poor  father.  There  — -  that  *s  right.  You  '11 
be  better  soon." 

There  was  certainly  no  visilde  sign  of 
suffering  or  exliaustion  on  tlie  part  of  either 
father  or  daughter,  nor  the  slightest  apparent 
earthly  reason  why  they  should  be  expected 
to  exhibit  any.  liut,  as  already  intimated,  it 
was  part  of  Mrs.  llarkutt's  generous  idiosj'n- 
crasy  to  look  upon  all  humanity  as  suffering 
and  toiling :  to  be  petted,  humored,  condoled 
with,  and  fed.  It  had.  in  the  course  of  years, 
imparted  a  singidarly  cares'^ing  sadness  to  her 
voice,  and  given  her  the  habit  of  ending  her 
sentences  with  a  melancholy  cooing  and  an 
unintelligible  murmur  of  agreement.  It  was 
undoubtedly  sincere  and  sympathetic,  but  at 
times  inappro]>riatt^  and  distressing.  It  had 
lost  her  the  friendship  of  the  one  humorist  of 
Tasajara,  whose  best  jokes  she  had  received 
with  such  luvartfelt  commiseration  and  such 
painful  appreciation  of  the  evident  labor 
involved  as  to  reduce  him  to  silence. 

Accustojued   as  Mr.   llarkutt  was  to   his 


24         A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T AS  AJAR  A. 

wife's  peculiarity,  he  was  not  above  assuming 
a  certain  slightly  fatigued  attitude  befitting 
it.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  vague  sigh, 
"  where  's  Clemmie  ?  " 

"  Lyin'  down  since  dinner  ;  she  reckoned 
she  would  n't  got  up  to  supper,"  she  returned 
soothingly.  "  Phemie  's  goin'  to  take  her  up 
some  sass  and  tea.  The  poor  dear  child 
wants  a  change." 

"  She  wants  to  go  to  'Frisco,  and  so  do  I, 
pop,"  said  Phemie,  leaning  her  elbow  half 
over  her  father's  plate.  "  Come,  poj),  say 
do,  —  just  for  a  week." 

"  Only  for  a  week,"  murmured  the  com- 
miserating Mrs.  Harkutt. 

"  Perhaps,"  responded  Harkutt,  with 
gloomy  sarcasm,  "ye  would  n't  mind  tellin' 
me  how  you  're  goin'  to  get  there,  and  where 
tlie  money  's  comin'  from  to  take  you  ? 
There  's  no  teamin'  over  Tasajara  till  the 
rain  stops,  and  no  money  comin'  in  till  the 
ranchmen  can  move  their  stuff.  There  ain't 
a  liundred  dollars  in  all  Tasajara  ;  at  least 
there  ain't  Ijeen  the  first  red  cent  of  it  paid 
across  my  counter  for  a  fortnit !  Perhaps  if 
you  do  go  you  would  n't  mind  takin'  me  and 
tlie  store  along  with  ye,  and  leavin'  us 
there." 


.1   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         25 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ilarkutt,  with 
sympathetic  but  shameless  tergiversation. 
"  Don't  bother  your  poor  father,  Phemie, 
love;  don't  you  see  he's  just  tired  out? 
And  you  're  not  eatin'  anything,  dad." 

As  Mr.  Ilarkutt  was  uneasily  conscious 
that  he  had  been  eating  heartily  in  spite  of 
his  financial  difficulties,  he  turned  the  sub- 
ject abruptly.     "  AMiere  's  John  Milton  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ilarkutt  shaded  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  and  gazed  meditatively  on  the  floor  be- 
fore the  fire  and  in  the  chimney  corner  for 
her  only  son,  baptized  under  that  historic 
title.  "  He  was  here  a  minit  ago,"  she  said 
doubtfully.  "  I  really  can't  think  where  he  's 
gone.     But,"  assuringly,  "  it  ain't  far." 

"  He 's  skipped  with  one  o'  those  story- 
books he  '.s  borrowed,"  said  Phemie.  '•  He  's 
always  doin'  it.  Like  as  not  he  's  reading 
with  a  candle  in  the  wood-shed.  We  "11  all 
be  burnt  up  some  night." 

"  Put  he  's  got  through  his  chores,"  inter- 
posed Mrs.  Ilarkutt  deprecatingly. 

"  Yes,"'  continued  Ilarkutt,  aggrievedly, 
"  but  instead  of  goin'  to  bed,  or  addin'  up 
bills,  or  takiu'  count  o'  stock,  or  even  doiu' 
sums  or  suthin'  useful,  he  's  ruiuiu'  his  e3'e3 
and  wastiu'  his  time   over  trash."     He  rose 


26         A  FIIiST  FAMILY  OF  T AS  AJAR  A. 

and  walked  slowly  into  the  sitting-room, 
followed  by  his  daughter  and  a  murmur  of 
commiseration  from  his  wife.  But  Mrs. 
Ilarkutt's  nnnistration  for  the  present  did 
not  pass  beyond  her  domain,  the  kitchen. 

"  I  reckon  ye  ain't  expectin'  anybody  to- 
night, Phemie  ?  "  said  Mr.  Ilarkutt,  sinking 
into  a  chair,  and  placing  his  slippered  feet 
against  the  wall. 

"  No,"  said  Phemie,  "  unless  something 
possesses  that  sappy  little  Parndee  to  make 
one  of  his  visitations.  John  Milton  says  that 
out  on  the  road  it  blows  so  you  can't  stand 
up.  It  's  just  like  that  idiot  Parmlee  to  be 
blown  in  here,  and  not  have  strength  of  mind 
enough  to  get  away  again." 

Mr.  Ilarkutt  smiled.  It  was  that  arch 
yet  approving,  severe  yet  satisfied  smile  with 
which  the  deceived  male  parent  usually  re- 
ceives any  depreciation  of  the  ordinary  young 
man  by  his  daughters.  Euphemia  was  no 
giddy  thing  to  bo  carried  away  by  young 
men's  attentions,  —  not  she  !  Sitting  back 
comfortably  in  his  rocking-chair,  he  said, 
"■  Play  something." 

The  young  girl  went  to  the  closet  and  took 
from  the  toj)  shidf  an  excessively  ornamented 
accordion,  —  the   o])ulent  gift  of  a  reckless 


A  FlliST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAJiA.         27 

admirer.  It  was  so  inordinately  decorated, 
so  gorgeous  in  the  blaze  of  papici'  niache, 
mother-of-pearl,  and  tortoise-shell  on  keys  and 
keyboard,  and  so  ostentatiously  radiant  in 
the  pink  silk  of  its  bellows  that  it  seemed  to 
overawe  the  plainly  furnished  room  with  its 
splendors.  "  You  ought  to  keep  it  on  the 
table  in  a  glass  vase,  Phemie,"  said  her  father 
admiringly. 

"And  have  Am  think  I  worshiped  it! 
Not  me,  indeed  !  He  's  conceited  enough 
already,"  she  returned,  saucily. 

Mr.  llarkutt  again  smiled  his  approbation, 
then  deliberately  closed  his  ej^es  and  threw 
his  head  back  in  comfortable  anticipation  of 
the  coming  strains. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  in  brilliancy, 
finish,  and  oven  cheerfulness  of  quality  they 
were  not  up  to  the  suggestions  of  the  keys 
and  keyboard.  The  most  discreet  and  cau- 
tious effort  on  the  part  of  the  young  per- 
former seemed  only  to  produce  startlingly 
imexpected,  but  instantly  su})])resscd  com- 
})laints  from  the  instrument,  accompanied  by 
impatient  interjections  of  ''  No,  no,"  from  the 
girl  herself.  Nevertheless,  with  her  pretty 
eyebrows  knitted  in  some  charming  distress 
of  memory,  her  little  mouth  half  open  be- 


28         A  FIJiST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

tween  an  apologetic  smile  and  the  exertion  of 
working  the  bellows,  with  her  white,  rounded 
arms  partly  lifted  up  and  waving  before  her, 
she  was  pleasantly  distracting  to  the  eye. 
Gradually,  as  the  scattered  strains  were  mar- 
shaled into  something  like  an  air,  she  began 
to  sing  also,  glossing  over  the  instrumental 
weaknesses,  filling  in  certain  drojiped  notes 
and  omissions,  and  otherwise  assisting  the 
ineffectual  accordion  with  a  youthful  but  not 
unmusical  voice.  The  song  was  a  lugubrious 
religious  chant ;  under  its  influence  the  house 
seemed  to  sink  into  greater  quiet,  permitting 
in  the  intervals  the  murmur  of  the  swollen 
creek  to  appear  more  distinct,  and  even  the 
far  moaning  of  the  wind  on  the  plain  to  be- 
come faintly  audible.  At  last,  having  fairly 
mastered  the  instrument,  Pliemie  got  into  the 
full  swing  of  the  eluuit.  Unconstrained  by 
any  criticism,  carried  away  by  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice,  and  perhaps  a  youthful  love 
for  mere  uproar,  or  possibly  desirous  to 
drown  her  father's  voice,  which  had  unex- 
pectedly joined  in  with  a  discomposing  bass, 
the  conjoined  utterances  seemed  to  threaten 
the  frail  structure  of  their  dwelling,  even  as 
the  gale  had  distended  the  store  behind 
tliem.     "When  they  ceased  at  last  it  was  in  an 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T  AS  AJAR  A.         29 

accession  of  dripping  from  the  apparently 
stirred  leaves  outside.  And  then  a  voice, 
evidently  from  the  moist  depths  of  the  abyss 
below,  called  out,  — 

"  Hullo,  there  !  " 

Phemie  put  down  the  accordion,  said, 
"  AVho  's  that  now  ?  "  went  to  the  window, 
lazily  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  sill,  and 
peered  into  the  darkness.  Nothing  was  to 
be  seen ;  the  open  space  of  dimly  outlined 
landscape  had  that  blank,  uncommunicative 
impenetrability  with  which  Nature  always 
confronts  and  surprises  us  at  such  moments. 
It  seemed  to  Pliemie  that  she  was  the  only 
human  being  present.  Yet  after  the  feeling 
had  passed  she  fancied  she  heard  the  wash 
of  the  current  against  some  object  in  the 
stream,  half  stationary  and  half  resisting. 

''  Is  any  one  down  there  ?  Is  that  you, 
Mr.  Parmlee  ?  "  she  called. 

There  was  a  pause.  Some  invisible  au- 
ditor said  to  another,  "  It 's  a  young  lady." 
Then  the  first  voice  rose  again  in  a  more 
deferential  tone :  "  Are  we  anywhere  near 
Sidon?"' 

"  This  is  Sidon,''  answered  Ilarkutt,  who 
had  risen,  and  was  now  quite  obliterating  his 
daughter's  outline  at  the  window. 


30         A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJAHA. 

"  Tliauk  you,"  said  the  voice.  "  Can  we 
land  anywhere  here,  on  this  bank  ?  " 

"  Run  down,  pop  ;  they  're  strangers,"  said 
the  girl,  with  excited,  almost  childish  eager- 
ness. 

"  Hold  on,"  called  out  Harkutt,  "  I  '11  be 
thar  in  a  moment !  "  He  hastily  thrust  his 
feet  into  a  pair  of  huge  boots,  clapped  on  an 
oilskin  hat  and  waterproof,  and  disappeared 
through  a  door  that  led  to  a  lower  staircase. 
Pliemie,  still  at  the  window,  albeit  with  a 
newly  added  sense  of  self-consciousness,  hung 
out  breathlessly.  Presently  a  beam  of  light 
from  the  lower  depths  of  the  house  shot  out 
into  the  darkness.  It  was  her  father  with  a 
bull's-eye  lantern.  As  he  held  it  up  and 
clambered  cautiously  down  the  bank,  its  rays 
fell  upon  the  turbid  rushing  stream,  and 
what  appeared  to  be  a  rough  raft  of  logs 
held  with  difficulty  against  the  bank  by  two 
men  witli  long  poles.  In  its  centre  was  a 
roll  of  blankets,  a  valise  and  saddle-bags, 
and  the  sliining  brasses  of  some  odd-looking 
instruments. 

As  Mr.  Ilnrkutt,  supporting  himself  by  a 
willow  branch  that  overhung  the  current, 
held  u})  the  lantern,  the  two  men  rapidly 
transferred  their  freijrht  from  the  raft  to  the 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         31 

bank,  and  leaped  ashore.  The  action  gave 
an  impulse  to  tiie  raft,  wliicl),  no  longer  held 
in  position  by  the  poles,  swung  broadsitle  to 
the  current  and  was  instantly  swept  into  the 
darkness. 

Not  a  word  had  been  spoken,  but  now 
the  voices  of  the  men  rose  freely  together. 
Pheniie  listened  with  intense  ex})ectation. 
The  explanation  was  simple.  They  were 
surveyors  who  had  been  caught  by  the  over- 
flow on  Tasajara  plain,  had  abandoned  their 
horses  on  the  bank  of  Tasajara  Creek,  and 
with  a  hastily  constructed  raft  had  intrusted 
themselves  and  their  instruments  to  the  cur- 
rent. "But,"  said  Ilarkutt  quickly,  "there 
is  no  connection  between  Tasajara  Creek  and 
this  stream." 

The  two  men  laughed.  "  There  is  7iO?r," 
said  one  of  tliem. 

"  But  Tasajara  Creek  is  a  part  of  the  bay," 
said  the  astonislied  Ilarkutt.  "and  this  stream 
rises  inland  and  only  runs  into  the  bay  four 
miles  lower  down.     And  I  don't  see  how  "  — 

"■  You  're  almost  twelve  feet  lower  here 
than  Tasajara  Creek."  said  the  first  man, 
with  a  cei'tain  professional  authority,  "  and 
that 's  7r //_>/.  There  's  more  water  than  Ta- 
sajara Creek  can  carry,  and  it 's  seeking  the 


32         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

bay  this  way.  Look,"  he  continued,  taking 
the  lantern  from  Harkutt's  hand  and  casting- 
its  rays  on  the  stream,  "  that 's  salt  drift 
from  the  upper  bay,  and  part  of  Tasajara 
Creek  's  running  by  your  house  now !  Don't 
be  alarmed,"  he  added  reassuringly,  glancing 
at  the  staring  storekeeper.  "  You  're  all 
right  here ;  this  is  only  the  overflow  and  will 
find  its  level  soon." 

But  Mr.  Ilarkutt  remained  gazing  ab- 
stractedly at  the  smiling  speaker.  From  the 
window  above  the  impatient  Phemie  was 
wondering  why  he  kept  the  strangers  waiting 
in  the  rain  while  he  talked  about  things  that 
were  perfectly  plain.    It  was  so  like  a  man  ! 

"  Then  there  's  a  waterway  straight  to  Ta- 
sajara Creek  ?  "  he  said  slowly. 

"  There  is,  as  long  as  this  flood  lasts,"  re- 
turned the  first  speaker  promptly ;  "  and  a 
cuttinir  throufjh  the  bank  of  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  would  make  it  permanent. 
Well,  what  "s  the  matter  with  that  ?  " 

''  Xothiu',"  said  Ilarkutt  hurriedly.  "  I 
am  only  consideriu'  !  But  come  in,  dry 
yourselves,  and  take  suthin'." 

The  light  over  the  rushing  water  was  with- 
drawn, and  the  wliole  prospect  sank  back 
into  profound  darkness.     Mr.  Ilarkutt  had 


A  FlRr.T  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA.         33 

disappeared  with  his  guests.  Tlien  tliere 
was  the  familiar  shuffle  of  his  feet  on  the 
staircase,  followed  by  other  more  cautious 
footsteps  that  grew  delicately  and  even  cour- 
teously deliberate  as  they  ajiproached.  At 
which  the  young  girl,  in  some  new  sense  of 
decorum,  drew  in  her  pretty  head,  glanced 
around  the  room  quickly,  reset  the  tidy  on 
her  father's  chair,  placed  the  resplendent  ac- 
cordion like  an  ornament  in  the  exact  centre 
of  the  table,  and  then  vanished  into  the  hall 
as  Mr.  Ilarkutt  entered  with  the  strangers. 

Tliey  were  both  of  the  same  age  and  ap- 
pearance, but  the  principal  speaker  w^as  evi- 
dently the  superior  of  his  companion,  and 
although  their  attitude  to  each  other  was 
equal  and  familiar,  it  could  be  easily  seen 
that  he  was  the  leader,  lie  had  a  smooth, 
beardless  face,  with  a  critical  expression  of 
eye  and  mouth  that  might  have  been  fas- 
tidious and  supercilious  but  for  the  kindly, 
humorous  perception  that  tempered  it.  His 
quick  eye  swept  the  apartment  and  then 
fixed  itself  upon  tlie  accordion,  but  a  smile 
lit  u])  his  face  as  he  said  quietly,  — 

"  1  hope  we  have  n"t  frightened  the  musi- 
cian away.      It  was  bad  enough  to  have  in- 
terrupted the  young  ladv." 
B— Bret  Harte  "  v.  22 


donate:  D  [3  0co;^ 

NirJTH  CORPS  AREA 


34         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Harkutt,  who  seemed 
to  have  lost  his  abstraction  in  the  nervousness 
of  hospitality.  "  I  reckon  she 's  only  lookin' 
after  her  sick  sister.  But  come  into  the 
kitchen,  both  of  you,  straight  off,  and  while 
you  're  dryin'  your  clothes,  mother  '11  fix  you 
suthin'  hot." 

"  We  only  need  to  change  our  boots  and 
stockings  ;  we  've  some  dry  ones  in  our  pack 
downstairs,"  said  the  first  speaker  hesitat- 
ingly. 

"  I  '11  fetch  'em  up  and  you  can  change  in 
the  kitchen.  The  old  woman  won't  mind," 
said  Ilarkutt  reassuringly.  "  Come  along." 
lie  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen ;  the  two 
strangers  exchanged  a  glance  of  humorous 
perplexity  and  followed. 

The  quiet  of  the  little  room  was  once  more 
unbroken.  A  far-off  commiserating  murmur 
indicated  that  Mrs.  Ilarkutt  was  receiving 
her  guests.  The  cool  breath  of  the  wet 
leaves  witliout  slightly  stirred  the  white  dim- 
ity curtains,  and  somewhere  from  the  dark- 
ened eaves  there  was  a  still,  somnolent  drip. 
Presently  a  hurried  whisper  and  a  lialf -laugh 
a])peared  to  be  su])pressed  in  the  outer  pas- 
sage or  liall.  Tliere  was  another  moment  of 
hesitati(jn  and  the  door  opened  suddenly  and 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA.         35 

ostentatiously,  disclosing  Pliemie,  with  a 
taller  and  sli^^liter  young  woman,  her  elder 
sister,  at  her  side.  Perceiving  that  the  room 
was  empty,  they  both  said  "  Oh  I  "  yet  with 
a  certain  artificiality  of  manner  that  was 
evitlently  a  lingering  trace  of  some  previous 
formal  attitude  they  had  assumed.  Then 
without  further  speech  they  each  selected  a 
chair  and  a  position,  having  first  shaken  out 
their  dresses,  and  gazed  silently  at  each 
other. 

It  may  be  said  briefly  that  sitting  thus  — 
in  s])ite  of  their  unnatural  attitude,  or  per- 
haps rather  because  of  its  suggestion  of  a 
photographic  pose  —  they  made  a  striking 
pictin-e,  and  strongly  accented  their  separate 
peculiarities.  They  were  both  pretty,  but 
the  taller  girl,  apparently  the  elder,  had  an 
iileal  refinement  and  regularity  of  feature 
wliich  was  not  only  unlike  Pliemie,  but 
gratuitously  unlike  the  rest  of  her  family, 
and  as  hopelessly  and  even  wantonly  incon- 
sistent with  her  surroundings  as  was  the 
elaborately  ornamented  accordion  on  the 
centre-table.  She  was  one  of  those  occa- 
sional (M'catures,  e])is()(licnl  in  the  South  and 
West,  who  might  liave  bcrii  stamped  with 
some  vague  ante-natal  impression  of  a  mother 


36         A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

given  to  over-sentimental  contemplation  of 
books  of  beauty  and  albums  ratlier  tlian 
the  family  features  ;  offspring  of  tyj^ical  men 
and  women,  and  yet  themselves  incongruous 
to  any  known  local  or  even  general  type. 
The  long  swan  -  like  neck,  tendriled  hair, 
swimming  eyes,  and  small  patrician  head, 
had  never  lived  or  moved  before  in  Tasajara 
or  the  AVest,  nor  perhaps  even  existed  except 
as  a  personified  "  Constancy,"  ''  Meditation," 
or  the  "  Banm's  Bride,"  in  mezzotint  or 
copperplate.  Even  the  girl's  common  pink 
print  dress  with  its  high  sleeves  and  shoulders 
could  not  conventionalize  these  original  out- 
lines ;  and  the  hand  that  rested  stiftiy  on  the 
back  of  her  chair,  albeit  neither  over-wliite 
nor  well  kept,  looked  as  if  it  had  never  held 
anything  but  a  lyre,  a  rose,  or  a  good  book. 
Even  the  few  sprays  of  wild  jessamine  which 
she  had  placed  in  the  coils  of  her  waving 
hair,  although  a  local  fashion,  became  her  as 
a  special  ornament. 

The  two  girls  kept  tlieir  constrained  and 
artificially  elaborated  attitude  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, accompanied  by  the  murmur  of  voices 
in  the  kitchen,  the  monotonous  drip  of  the 
eaves  before  the  window,  and  the  far-off 
sough  of  the  wind.     Then  Phemie  suddenly 


A   FIRST   FAMILY   OF    TASAJARA.         37 

broke  into  a  constrained  giggle,  wliicli  she 
Lowever  quickly  sniotliereJ  as  slie  Iiad  the 
accordion,  and  with  the  same  look  of  mis- 
chievous distress. 

"  I  'm  astonished  at  you,  Pliemie,"  said 
Clementina  in  a  deep  contralto  voice,  which 
seemed  even  deeper  from  its  restraint.  "  You 
don't  seem  to  have  any  sense.  Anybody  'd 
think  you  never  had  seen  a  stranger  be- 
fore." 

"  Saw  him  before  you  did,"  retorted 
Phemie  pertly.  P)ut  here  a  pushing  of  chairs 
and  shuffling  of  feet  in  the  kitchen  checked 
her.  Clementina  fixed  an  abstracted  gaze 
on  the  ceiling;  Phemie  regarded  a  leaf  on 
the  window  sill  with  photographic  rigidity  as 
the  door  opened  to  the  strangers  and  her 
father. 

The  look  of  undisguised  satisfaction  which 
lit  the  young  men's  faces  relieved  Mr. 
Ilarkutt's  awkward  introduction  of  any  em- 
barrassment, and  almost  before  Pliemie  was 
fully  aware  of  it,  she  found  herself  talking 
rapidly  and  in  a  high  key  with  Mr.  Lawrence 
Grant,  the  surveyor,  while  her  sister  was 
equally,  altliough  more  sedately,  occupied 
with  ]Mr.  Stephen  Rice,  his  assistant.  But 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  strangers,  and  the  desire 


88         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

to  please  and  be  pleased  was  so  genuine  and 
contagious  that  presently  the  accordion  was 
brought  into  requisition,  and  Mr.  Grant 
exhibited  a  surprising  faculty  of  accompani- 
ment to  Mr.  liice's  tenor,  in  which  both  the 
girls  joined. 

Then  a  game  of  cards  with  partners  fol- 
lowed, into  which  the  rival  parties  introduced 
such  delightful  and  shameless  obviousness  of 
cheating,  and  displayed  such  fascinating  and 
exaggerated  partisanship  that  the  game 
resolved  itself  into  a  hilarious  melee,  to  which 
peace  v/as  restored  only  by  an  exhibition  of 
tricks  of  legerdemain  with  the  cards  by  the 
young  surveyor.  All  of  which  Mr.  Ilarkiitt 
supervised  patronizingly,  with  occasional  fits 
of  abstraction,  from  his  rocking-chair ;  and 
later  Mrs.  Ilarkutt  from  her  kitchen  thresh- 
old, wiping  her  arms  on  her  apron  and  com- 
miseratingly  observing  that  she  "  declared, 
the  young  folks  looked  better  already." 

But  it  was  here  a  more  dangerous  element 
of  mystery  and  suggestion  was  added  by 
Mr.  Lawrence  Grant  in  the  telling  of  Miss 
Ku])hemia's  fortune  from  the  cards  before 
him,  and  tliat  young  lady,  pink  with  excite- 
ment, fluttered  lier  llUle  liands  not  unlike 
timid  birds  over  the  cards  to  be  drawn,  taking 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         39 

them  from  him  with  an  audible  twitter  of 
anxiety  and  great  doubts  whether  a  certain 
"  fair-haired  gentleman  "  was  in  hearts  or 
diamonds. 

"  Here  are  two  strangers,"  said  Mr.  Grant, 
with  extraordinary  gravity  laying  down  the 
cards,  "  and  here  is  a  '  journey  ; '  this  is  '  un- 
expected news,'  and  this  ten  of  diamonds 
means  '  great  wealth  '  to  you,  which  you  see 
follows  the  advent  of  the  two  strangers  and 
is  some  way  connected  with  them." 

*'  Oh,  indeed,"  said  the  young  lady  with 
great  pertness  and  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  I 
sup])osc  they  Ve  got  the  money  with  them." 

''  No,  though  it  reaches  you  through  them," 
he  answered  with  unflinching  solemnity. 
"  AVait  a  bit,  I  have  it  I  I  see,  I  've  made  a 
mistake  with  tliis  card.  It  signifies  a  journey 
or  a  road.  Queer  !  is  n't  it,  Steve  ?  It  's 
the  road.'' 

'•  It  is  queer,"  said  Kice  with  equal  grav- 
ity ;  '•  but  it  "s  so.  The  road,  sure  !  "  Xever- 
tlieless  lie  looked  up  into  the  large  eyes  of 
Clementina  with  a  certain  confidential  air  of 
truthfulness. 

'■  You  see,  ladies,"  continued  the  surveyor, 
appealing  to  them  with  unabashed  rigidity  of 
feature,  '•  the  cards  don't  lie  !     Luckily  we 


40        A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

are  in  a  position  to  corroborate  them.  The 
road  in  question  is  a  secret  kno^yn  only  to  us 
and  some  capitalists  in  San  Francisco.  In 
fact  even  thej/  don't  know  that  it  is  feasible 
until  we  report  to  them.  But  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  now,  as  a  slight  return  for  your 
charming  hospitality,  that  the  road  is  a  rail- 
road  from  Oakland  to  Tasajara  Creek  of 
which  we  've  just  made  the  ^preliminary  sur- 
vey. So  you  see  what  the  cards  mean  is  this : 
You  're  not  far  from  Tasajara  Creek  ;  in  fact 
with  a  very  little  expense  your  father  could 
connect  this  stream  with  the  creek,  and  have 
a  icatent'cty  straujht  to  the  railroad  terminus. 
That  's  the  wealth  the  cards  promise  ;  and  if 
your  father  knows  how  to  take  a  hint  he  can 
make  his  fortune  !  " 

It  was  impossible  to  say  which  was  the 
most  dominant  in  the  face  of  the  speaker, 
the  expression  of  assumed  gravity  or  the 
twinkling  of  humor  in  his  eyes.  The  two 
girls  with  superior  feminine  perception  di- 
vined that  there  was  much  truth  in  what  he 
saiJ,  al])eit  they  did  n't  entirely  understand 
it,  and  what  they  did  understand  —  except 
the  man's  gocd-humored  motive  —  was  not 
particularly  interesting.  In  fact  they  were 
slightly  disappointed.     What  had  promised 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TAB  AJAR  A.        41 

to  be  an  audaciously  flirtatious  declaration, 
and  even  a  mischievous  suggestion  of  mar- 
riage, had  resolved  itself  into  something 
absurdly  practical  and  business-like. 

Not  so  Mr.  Ilarkutt.  He  quickly  rose 
from  his  chair,  and,  leaning  over  the  table, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  card  as  if  it  really 
signified  the  railroad,  repeated  quickly : 
*•  Kailroad,  eh  !  What 's  that  ?  A  railroad 
to  Tasajara  Creek  ?  Ye  don't  mean  it !  — 
That  is  —  it  ain't  a  stive  thing  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  sure.  The  money  is  ready  in 
San  Francisco  now,  and  by  this  time  next 
year  "— 

"  A  railroad  to  Tasajara  Creek ! "  con- 
tinued Ilarkutt  hurriedly.  "  ^Mlat  part  of 
it  ?     Where  ?  " 

"  At    the     cmharcadero     naturally,"    re- 
sponded Grant.     '*  There  is  n't  but  the  one- 
place    for    the    teruiinus.     There  "s    an    old 
shanty  there  now  belongs  to  somebody." 

"  Why,  pop  I  "  said  Phemie  with  sudden 
recollection,  "  ain't  it  'Lige  Curtis's  house  ? 
The  land  lie  offered" — 

"  Hush  !  "  said  lier  father. 

"You  know,  the  one  written  in  that  bit  of 
paper,"  contir.u.'d  i\w  iiiii(;r;-r.t  Pliomie. 

"Hush!  will  you?     God  xVmighty  !   are 


42         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

you  goin'  to  mind  me  ?  Are  you  goin'  to 
keep  up  your  jabber  when  I  'm  speakin'  to 
the  gentlemen  ?  Is  that  your  manners  ? 
^Vhat  next,  I  wonder !  " 

The  sudden  and  unexpected  passion  of 
the  speaker,  the  incomprehensible  change  in 
his  voice,  and  the  utterly  disproportionate  ex- 
aggeration of  his  attitude  towards  his  daugh- 
ters, enforced  an  instantaneous  silence.  The 
rain  began  to  drip  audibly  at  the  window, 
the  rush  of  the  river  sounded  distinctly  from 
without,  even  the  shaking  of  the  front  part 
of  tlie  dwelling  by  the  distant  gale  became 
perceptible.  An  angry  flash  sprang  for  an 
instant  to  the  young  assistant's  eye,  but  it 
met  the  cautious  glance  of  his  friend,  and 
together  both  discreetly  sought  the  table. 
The  two  girls  alone  remained  white  and  col- 
lected. "  Will  you  go  on  with  my  fortune, 
Mr.  Grant?"  said  Phemie  quietly. 

A  certain  respect,  perhaps  not  before  ob- 
servable, was  suggested  in  the  surveyor's 
tone  as  he  smilingly  replied,  "  Certainly,  I 
was  only  waiting  for  you  to  show  your  con- 
fidence in  me,"  and  took  up  the  cards. 

Mr.  llarkutt  coughed.  "  it  looks  as  if 
that  blamed  wind  liad  blown  suthin'  loose  in 
the  store,"  he  said  affectedly.     "  1  reckon 


.1    /'//W?'  FAMIl.Y   OF   TASAJAILI.  43 

I  '11  go  and  sec."  He  hesitated  a  luomcut 
and  then  disappeared  in  the  passage.  Y'jt 
even  here  lie  stood  irresohite,  looking  at  the 
closed  door  behind  him,  and  passing  his  hand 
over  his  still  flushed  face.  Presently  he 
slowly  and  abstractedly  ascended  the  flight 
of  steps,  entered  the  smaller  passage  that 
led  to  the  back  door  of  the  shop  and  opened 
it. 

He  was  at  first  a  little  startled  at  the  halo 
of  light  from  the  still  glowing  stove,  which 
the  greater  obscurity  of  the  long  room  had 
heightened  rather  than  diuiinishcd.  Then 
he  })assed  behind  the  counter,  but  here  the 
box  of  biscuits  which  occupied  the  centre 
and  cast  a  shadow  over  it  compelled  him  to 
grope  vaguely  for  what  he  sought.  Then 
he  stop])ed  suddenly,  the  paper  he  had  just 
found  dr()])])ing  from  his  fijigers,  and  said 
sharjtly,  — 

^'  Who  "s  there  '^  " 

"  Mc,  pop."' 

'•  riohn  ^lilton  ?  *' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  What    the    devil    arc    you    doin'   there. 


sir 


7" 


''  Kcadin'." 

It  was  true.     The  boy  was  half  reclining 


44         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

in  a  most  distorted  posture  on  two  chairs,  liis 
figure  in  deep  shadow,  but  his  book  was 
raised  above  his  head  so  as  to  catch  the  red 
glow  of  the  stove  on  the  printed  page. 
Even  then  his  father's  angry  interruption 
scarcely  diverted  his  preoccupation  ;  he 
raised  himself  in  his  chair  mechanically, 
with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  his  book.  Seeing 
which  his  father  quickly  regained  the  paper, 
but  continued  his  objurgation. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  Clear  off  to  bed,  will 
you  !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Pretty  goin's  on," 
he  added  as  if  to  justify  his  indignation. 
"  Sneakin'  in  here  and  —  and  lyin'  'round 
at  this  time  o'  night !  Why,  if  I  had  n't 
come  in  hero  to  " — 

"  What  ?  "  asked  the  boy  mechanically, 
catching  vaguely  at  the  unfinislied  sentence 
and  staring  automatically  at  the  paper  in  his 
father's  hand. 

"Nothin',  sir!  Go  to  bed,  I  tell  you! 
Will  you?  W];at  are  you  standin'  gawpin' 
at  ?  "  continued  Ilarkutt  furiously. 

Tlio  boy  reg-aincd  his  foet  slowdy  and 
passed  his  father,  but  not  without  noticing 
with  the  same  listless  yet  ineffaceable  per- 
ception of  childhood  that  lie  was  hurriedly 
concealing  the  paper  in  his  pocket.     With 


A   F/Rsr   FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         45 

the  same  youthfixl  inconseqvience,  wondering 
at  this  more  than  at  the  interruption,  which 
was  no  novel  event,  he  went  slowly  out  of 
the  room. 

Ilarkutt  listened  to  the  retreating  tread 
of  his  bare  feet  in  the  2)assage  and  then 
carefully  locked  the  door.  Taking  the  paper 
from  his  pocket,  and  borrowing  the  idea  he 
had  just  o])jui'gated  in  his  son,  he  turned  it 
towards  the  dull  glow  of  the  stove  and  at- 
tempted to  read  it.  But  perhaps  lacking 
the  patience  as  well  as  the  keener  sight  of 
youtli,  he  was  forced  to  relight  the  candle 
which  lie  had  left  on  the  counter,  and  repe- 
rusod  tlie  pa])er.  Yes !  there  was  certainly  no 
mistake  I  Here  was  the  actual  descrij^tion 
of  the  property  which  the  surveyor  had  just 
indicated  as  the  future  terminus  of  the  new 
raili'oad,  and  here  it  was  conveyed  to  him  — 
Daniel  Ilarkutt!  What  was  that?  Some- 
body knocking  ?  What  did  this  continual 
interruption  mean?  An  odd  superstitious 
fear  now  mingled  with  his  irritation. 

The  sound  apjieared  to  come  from  the 
front  shutters,  it  suddenly  <iccurred  to  iiim 
tluit  tJie  light  might  be  visible  tlirough  the 
crevices.  He  hurriedly  extinguished  it,  and 
went  to  the  door. 


46         A   FIE  ST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

"Who's  there?" 

"  Me,  —  Peters.     Want  to  speak  to  you." 

Mr.  Harkutt  with  evident  reluctance  drew 
the  bolts.  The  wind,  still  boisterous  and 
besieging',  did  the  rest,  and  precij^itately  pro- 
pelled Peters  through  the  carefully  guarded 
opening.  But  his  surprise  at  finding  him- 
self in  the  darkness  seemed  to  forestall  any 
explanation  of  his  visit. 

"  Well,"  he  said  with  an  odd  mingling  of 
reproach  and  suspicion.  "  I  declare  I  saw 
a  light  here  just  this  minit !     That 's  queer." 

"  Yes,  I  put  it  out  just  now.  I  was  goin' 
aw^ay,"  replied  Ilarkutt,  with  ill-disguised 
impatience. 

"  What  I  been  here  ever  since  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Harkutt  curtly. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  speak  to  ye  about  'Lige. 
Seein'  the  candle  shinin'  through  the  chiuks 
I  thought  he  might  be  still  with  ye.  If  he 
ain't,  it  looks  bad.  Light  up,  can't  ye !  1 
want  to  show  you  something." 

There  was  a  peremptoriness  in  his  tone 
that  struck  Ilarkutt  disagreeably,  but  observ- 
ing that  he  w^as  carrying  something  in  his 
hand,  he  somewdiat  nervously  re-lit  the  can- 
dle and  faced  him.  Peters  had  a  hat  in  his 
hand.     It  was  'Lige's ! 


A   F I  R.ST  FAMILY  OF  T  AS  AJAR  A.         47 

"  "Bout  un  hour  after  we  fellers  left  here," 
said  Peters,  "  1  heard  the  rattlin'  of  hoofs 
on  the  road,  and  then  it  seemed  to  stop  just 
by  my  house.  I  went  out  with  a  lantern, 
and,  darn  my  skin !  if  there  war  n't  'Lige's 
hoss,  the  saddle  empty,  and  Lige  nowhere ! 
I  looked  round  and  called  him  —  but  no- 
thing were  to  be  seen.  Thinkin'  he  might 
have  slipped  off  —  tho'  ez  a  general  rule 
drunken  men  don't,  and  he  is  a  good  rider 

—  I  followed  down  the  road,  lookin'  for  him. 
1  kept  on  folleriu'  it  down  to  your  run,  half 
a  mile  below." 

'•'But,"  began  Ilarkutt,  with  a  quiek  ner- 
vous laugh,  *•'  you  don't  reckon  that  because 
of  tiiat  he  "  — 

"Hold  on!"  said  Peters,  grindy  produc- 
ing a  revt>lver  from  his  side-pocket  with  the 
stock  and  barrel  clogged  and  streaked  with 
mud.  '•  1  found  tliut  too,  —  and  look  !  one 
barrel  discharged !  And,"  he  added  hur- 
riedly, as  approaching  a  climax,  "  look  ye, 

—  what  I  nat'rally  took  for  wet  from  the 
rain  —  inside  that  hat  —  was  —  ))lood  !  " 

'"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Harkutt,  putting  the 
hat  aside  with  a  new  fastidiousness.  "  You 
don't  think"  — 

"•  1  think,''  said  Peters,  lowering  his  voice. 


48         A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

"I  think,  by  God!  he  's  bin  and  done 
it!'' 

"No!" 

"  Sure  !  Oil,  it 's  all  very  well  for  Bil- 
lings and  the  rest  of  that  conceited  crowd  to 
sneer  and  sling  their  ideas  of  'Lige  gen'rally 
as  they  did  jess  now  here,  —  but  I  'd  like  'em 
to  see  that.'"  It  was  difificult  to  tell  if  Mr. 
Peters'  triumphant  delight  in  confuting  his 
late  companions'  theories  had  not  even 
usurped  in  his  mind  the  Importance  of  the 
news  he  brought,  as  it  had  of  any  human 
sympathy  with  it. 

"  Look  here,"  returned  Ilarkutt  earnestly, 
yet  with  a  singularly  cleared  brow  and  a 
more  natural  manner.  "  You  ought  to  take 
them  things  over  to  Squire  Kerby's,  right 
off,  and  show  'em  to  him.  You  kin  tell  him 
how  you  left  'Lige  here,  and  say  that  I  can 
prove  by  my  daughter  that  he  went  away 
about  ten  minutes  after,  —  at  least,  not  more 
than  fifteen."  Like  all  unprofessional  hu- 
manity, Mr.  Ilarkutt  had  an  exaggerated 
conception  of  the  majesty  of  unimportant 
detail  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  "  I  'd  go  with 
you  myself,"  he  added  quickly,  "but  I've 
got  company  —  strangers  —  here." 

"  IIow  did  lie  look  when  he  left,  —  kinder 
wild'^"  suggested  Peters. 


A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF    TASAJAIiA.         49 

Ilarkutt  had  begun  to  feci  the  prudcuce 
of  present  reticence.  "  Well,"  he  said,  cau- 
tiously, '■^you  saw  how  he  looked." 

"  You  was  n't  rough  with  him  ?  —  that 
might  have  sent  him  oft",  you  know,"  said 
Peters. 

"  Xo,"  said  Harkutt,  forgetting  himself  in 
a  quick  indignation,  "  no,  I  not  only  treated 
him  to  another  drink,  but  gave  him  "  —  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  awkwardly. 

"Eh?"  said  Peters. 

"  Some  good  advice,  —  you  know,"  said 
Ilarkutt,  hastily.  "  But  come,  you  'd  bet- 
ter hurry  over  to  the  squire's.  You  know 
you  've  made  the  discovery ;  youi'  evidence 
is  important,  and  there  's  a  law  that  obliges 
you  to  give  information  at  once." 

The  excitement  of  discovery  and  the  tri- 
umph over  his  disputants  being  spent,  Peters, 
after  the  Sidon  fashion,  evidently  did  not 
relish  activity  as  a  duty.  "  You  know,"  he 
said  dubiously,  '•  he  might  n't  be  dead,  after 
aU." 

Ilarkutt  became  a  trifle  distant.  "  You 
know  your  own  o})inion  of  the  thing,'"  he 
replied  after  a  pause.  "  You  've  circumstan- 
tial evidence  enough  to  see  the  squire,  and 
set  others  to  work   on  it;    and,"  he  added 


50         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA. 

significantly,  "  you  've  done  your  share  then, 
and  can  wipe  your  hands  of  it,  eh? " 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Peters,  eagerly.  "  I  '11 
just  run  over  to  the  squire." 

"  And  on  account  of  the  women  folks,  you 
know,  and  the  strangers  here,  1 11  say  nothin' 
about  it  to-night,"  added  Harkutt. 

Peters  nodded  his  head,  and  taking  up  the 
hat  of  the  unfortunate  Elijah  with  a  certain 
hesitation,  as  if  he  feared  it  had  already  lost 
its  dramatic  intensity  as  a  witness,  disap- 
peared into  the  storm  and  darkness  again. 
A  lurking  gust  of  wind  lying  in  ambush 
somewhere  seemed  to  swoop  down  on  him  as 
if  to  prevent  further  indecision  and  whirl  him 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  justice's  house  ; 
and  Mr.  Ilarkutt  shut  the  door,  bolted  it, 
and  walked  aimlessly  back  to  the  counter. 

From  a  slow,  deliberate  and  cautious  man, 
he  seemed  to  have  changed  within  an  hour 
to  an  irresolute  and  capricious  one.  lie  took 
the  paper  from  his  pocket,  and,  unlocking 
the  money  drawer  of  his  counter,  folded  into 
a  small  com])ass  that  which  now  seemed  to 
be  the  last  testament  of  Elijah  Curtis,  and 
])laeed  it  in  a  recess.  Then  he  went  to  the 
back  door  and  paused,  then  returned,  rc- 
openwl   the   money    diawer,    took    out    the 


A    FIRST   FASriLY   UF   TASA.IARA.         51 

paper  and  again  buttoned  it  in  Lis  hip 
pocket,  standing  by  tlie  stove  and  staring 
abstractedly  at  the  dull  glow  o£  the  tire. 
He  even  went  through  the  lueehanical  ])ro- 
cess  of  raking  down  the  ashes,  —  solely  to 
gain  time  and  as  an  excuse  for  delaying 
some  other  necessary  action. 

lie  was  thinking  what  he  should  do.  Had 
the  cpiestion  of  his  right  to  retain  and  mrJie 
use  of  that  paper  been  squarely  offered  to 
him  an  hour  ago,  he  would  without  doubt 
have  decided  that  he  ought  not  to  keep  it. 
Even  now,  looking  at  it  as  an  abstract  prin- 
ciple, he  did  not  deceive  himself  in  the  least. 
But  Nature  has  the  reprehensible  habit  of 
not  })resenting  these  questions  to  us  squarely 
and  fairly,  and  it  is  remarkable  that  in 
most  of  our  offending  the  abstract  principle 
is  never  the  direct  issue.  ^Ir.  Harkutt 
was  conscious  of  having  been  unwillingly 
led  step  by  step  into  a  diflicult.  not  to  say 
dishonest,  situation,  and  against  his  own 
seeking.  He  had  never  asked  Elijah  to  sell 
him  the  property  :  he  had  distinctly  declined 
it :  it  had  even  been  foi'ced  upon  him  as  se- 
curity for  the  ])ittaiu'e  he  so  freely  gave  him. 
This  proved  (to  himself)  that  he  himself 
was  honest ;  it  was  only  the   eircunistances 


52         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

tliiit  were  queer.  Of  course  if  Elijah  had 
lived,  he,  Harkutt,  might  have  tried  to  drive 
some  bargain  with  him  before  the  news  of 
the  raili'oad  survey  came  out  —  for  that  was 
only  business.  Ijut  now  that  Elijah  was 
dead,  who  would  be  a  penny  the  worse  or 
better  but  himself  if  he  chose  to  consider  the 
whole  thing  as  a  lucky  speculation,  and  his 
gift  of  five  dollars  as  the  price  he  paid  for 
it  ?  Nobody  could  think  that  he  had  calcu- 
lated upon  'Lige's  suicide,  any  more  than 
that  the  property  would  become  valuable. 
In  fact  if  it  came  to  that,  if  "Lige  had  really 
contem})lated  killing  himself  as  a  hopeless 
bankrupt  after  taking  Ilarkutt's  money  as 
a  loan,  it  was  a  swindle  on  his  —  Ilarkutt's 
—  good-nature.  He  w"orked  himself  into  a 
rage,  which  lie  felt  was  innately  virtuous,  at 
this  tyranny  of  cold  principle  over  his  own 
warm-hearted  instincts,  but  if  it  came  to  the 
/f'/?/",  he'd  stand  bylaw  and  not  sentiment. 
He'd  just  let  them  —  by  which  he  vaguely 
!!i.e;int  the  world,  Tasajara,  and  possibh;  liis 
own  conscloncc  —  see  tliat  he  wa:-;  n't  a  senti- 
mcnt;d  fool,  and  he  'd  freeze  on  to  tliat  pa})er 
and  that  property ! 

(^iily  he  ought  to  have  spolccn  out  before. 
Ho  ought  to  have  told  the  surveyor  at  once 


A   FIRST   FAMILY    OF    TASA.JAILL         53 

that  lie  (nuicd  the  land.  Ho  ought  to  have 
said:  '^  AVhy,  that 's  my  Land.  I  bouglit  it 
of  tli:-.!  drunken  'Lige  Curtis  for  a  song  and 
out  of  charity."  Yes,  that  was  the  only  real 
trouhio,  and  that  came  from  his  own  good- 
ness, his  own  extravagant  sense  of  justice 
and  right,  —  his  own  cursed  good-nature. 
Yet,  on  second  thoughts,  he  did  n't  know 
why  he  was  ol)ligcd  to  tell  the  surveyor. 
Tiu;e  enough  when  the  company  wanted  to 
buy  the  land.  As  soon  as  it  was  settled  that 
"Lige  was  dead  ho  "d  openly  claim  the  prop- 
erty. But  what  if  he  Vvas  n't  dead?  or  they 
could  n't  find  his  body  ?  or  ho  h.ad  only  dis- 
appeared ?  His  plain,  matter-of-fact  face 
contracted  and  darkened.  Of  course  ho 
could  n"t  ask  the  company  to  wait  for  liini  to 
settle  that  point.  Ho  had  the  power  to  dis- 
pose of  the  property  under  that  paper,  and 
—  ho  should  do  it.  If  "Lige  turned  uj),  tliat 
was  another  matter,  and  he  and  Lige  could 
arrange  it  betwec^n  ti»em.  He  was  quite  firm 
here,  and  oddly  enough  quite  relieved  in 
getting  rid  of  what  a])peared  only  a  simple 
([uestion  of  detail.  He  never  suspected  that 
lie  was  contemplating  tlie  one  irretrievable 
step,  and  summarily  dismissing  the  whole 
ethical  question. 


54         A   FIRST   FAMILY    OF   TASAJAIiA. 

He  turned  away  from  the  stove,  02)ene(l 
the  back  door,  and  walked  with  a  more  de- 
termined step  through  the  passage  to  the 
sitting-room.  But  here  he  halted  again  on 
the  tlireshold  with  a  quick  return  of  his  old 
habits  of  caution.  The  door  was  slightly 
open  ;  apparently  his  angry  outbreak  of  an 
hour  ago  had  not  affected  the  spirits  of  his 
daughters,  for  he  could  hear  their  hilarious 
voices  minrjlin":  with  those  of  the  stran<rers. 
They  were  evidently  still  fortune-telling,  but 
this  time  it  was  the  prophetic  and  divining 
accents  of  Mr.  liice  addressed  to  Clementina 
wliicli  were  now  plainly  audible. 

"  1  see  heaps  of  money  and  ;i  great  many 
friends  in  the  change  that  is  coming  to  you. 
Dear  me  I  how  many  siaitors  I  But  I  cannot 
promise  you  any  marriage  as  brilliant  as  my 
friend  has  just  offered  your  sister.  You 
may  be  certain,  however,  that  you  '11  have 
your  own  choice  in  this,  as  you  have  in  all 
things." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  Cleme]i- 
tina's  voice.  "But  what  are  those  horri,! 
l)lack  cards  beside  them?  —  that's  trouble, 
I  'm  sure." 

"  Not  for  you.  tliougli  near  you.  Perlia])s 
some  one  you  don't  care  much  for  and  don't 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.         55 

understand  will  have  a  heap  of  trouble  on 
your  aecouut,  —  yes,  on  account  of  these  very 
riches  ;  see,  he  follows  the  ten  of  diamonds. 
It  may  be  a  suitor ;  it  may  be  some  one  now 
in  the  house,  perhaps." 

"  lie  means  himself.  Miss  Clementina," 
struck  in  Grant's  voice  laughingly. 

'*  You  're  not  listening,  Miss  Ilarkutt," 
said  Rice  with  half-serious  re^sroach.  "  Per- 
haps you  know  who  it  is  ?  " 

But  Miss  Clementina's  reply  was  simply  a 
hurried  recognition  of  her  father's  pale  face 
that  hero  suddenly  confronted  her  with  the 
opening  door. 

''Why,  it's  father!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

In  his  strange  mental  condition  even  the 
change  from  Ilarkutt's  feeble  candle  to  the 
outer  darkness  for  a  moment  blinded  Elijah 
Curtis,  yet  it  was  part  of  that  mental  condi- 
tion that  he  kept  moving  steadily  forward  as 
in  a  trance  or  dream,  though  at  first  pur- 
poselessly. Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  really  looking  for  his  horse,  and  that  the 
animal  was  not  there.  This  for  a  moment 
confused  and  frightened  him,  first  with  the 
supposition  that  he  had  not  brought  him  at 
all,  but  that  it  was  part  of  his  delusion  ; 
secondly,  with  the  conviction  that  without 
his  horse  he  could  neither  proceed  on  the 
course  suggested  by  Ilarkutt,  nor  take 
another  more  vague  one  that  was  dimly  in 
his  mind.  Yet  in  his  hopeless  vacillation  it 
seemed  a  relief  that  now  neither  was  practi- 
cable, and  that  lie  need  do  notliing.  Per- 
haps it  was  a  mysterious  })rovidence  ! 

The  explanation,  however,  was  much 
siui])ler.     Tlie  lio'vse  had  been  taken  by  the 


A   yiRUT  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.         57 

luxurious  and  indolent  Billings  unknown  to 
liis  companions.  Ov'ercome  at  the  dreadful 
prospect  of  walking-  home  in  that  weather, 
this  perfect  product  of  lethargic  Sidon  had 
artfully  allowed  Peters  and  Wingate  to  pre- 
cede him,  and,  cautiously  unloosing  the 
tethered  animal,  had  safely  j^assed  them  in 
the  darkness.  AVhen  he  gained  his  own  in- 
closure  he  had  lazily  dismounted,  and,  with 
a  sharp  cut  on  the  mustang's  Iiaunches,  sent 
him  galloping  back  to  rejoin  his  master,  with 
what  result  has  been  already  told  by  the  un- 
suspecting Peters  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

Yet  no  conception  of  this  possibility  en- 
tered 'Lige  Curtis"s  alcoholized  conscious- 
ness, part  of  whose  morbid  ])hantasy  it  was 
to  distort  or  exaggerate  all  natural  phenom- 
ena, lie  had  a  vague  idea  that  he  could  not 
go  l)ack  to  Harkutt's ;  already  his  visit 
seemed  to  have  happened  long,  long  ago, 
and  could  not  be  re})eated.  He  would  walk 
on,  enwra]>ped  in  this  uncomjiromising  dark- 
ness which  concealed  everything,  suggested 
everything,  and  was  responsible  for  every- 
thing. 

It  was  very  dark,  for  the  wind,  having 
lulled,  no  longer  thinned  the  veil  of  clouds 
above,  nor  dissipated  a  steaming  mist  that 


58         A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T AH  AJAR  A. 

appeared  to  rise  from  the  sodden  plain. 
Yet  he  moved  easily  through  the  darkness, 
seeming  to  be  ujjheld  by  it  as  something 
tangible,  upon  which  he  might  lean.  At 
times  he  thought  he  heard  voices,  —  not  a 
particular  voice  he  was  thinking  of,  but 
strange  voices  —  of  course  unreal  to  his 
})resent  fancy.  And  then  he  heard  one  of 
these  voices,  unlike  any  voice  in  Sidon,  and 
very  faint  and  far  off,  asking  if  it  "  was  any- 
where near  Sidon  ?  "  —  evidently  some  one 
lost  like  himself.  He  answered  in  a  voice 
that  seemed  quite  as  unreal  and  as  faint,  and 
turned  in  the  direction  from  which  it  came. 
There  was  a  lio-ht  moving  like  a  will-o"-thc- 
wis})  far  before  him,  yet  below  him  as  if 
coming  out  of  the  depths  of  the  earth.  It 
must  be  fancy,  but  he  would  see  —  ah ! 

He  had  fallen  violently  forward,  and  at 
the  same  moment  felt  his  revolver  leap  from 
nis  breast  pocket  like  a  living  thing,  and  an 
instant  after  explode  upon  the  rock  where  it 
struck,  bliudingly  illuminating  the  declivity 
down  which  he  was  plunging.  The  sulphur- 
ous sting  of  burning  powder  was  in  his  eyes 
and  nose,  yet  in  that  swift  revealing  flash  he 
had  time  to  clutch  the  stems  of  a  trailing 
vine   beside  him,  but  not  to  save  his  head 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.         59 

from  sharp  contact  with  the  same  rocky 
ledge  that  had  caught  his  pistol.  The  pain 
and  shock  gave  way  to  a  sickening  sense  of 
warmth  at  the  roots  of  his  hair.  Giddy 
and  faint,  his  fingers  relaxed,  he  felt  himself 
sinking,  with  a  languor  that  was  half  acqui- 
escence, down,  down,  —  until,  with  another 
shock,  a  wild  gasping  for  air,  and  a  swift  re- 
action, he  awoke  in  the  cold,  rushing  water ! 

Clear  and  perfectly  conscious  now,  though 
frantically  fighting  for  existence  with  the 
current,  he  could  dimly  see  a  floating  black 
object  shooting  by  the  shore,  at  times  strik- 
ing the  projections  of  the  bank,  until  in  its 
recoil  it  swung  half  round  and  drifted  broad- 
side on  towards  him.  lie  was  near  enough 
to  catch  the  frayed  ends  of  a  trailing  rope 
that  fastened  the  structure,  which  seemed  to 
be  a  few  logs,  together.  With  a  convul- 
sive effort  he  at  last  gained  a  footing  upon 
it,  and  then  fell  fainting  along  its  length. 
It  was  the  raft  which  the  survej'ors  from  the 
emharcddcro  had  just  abandoned. 

He  did  not  know  this,  nor  would  he  have 
thought  it  otherwise  strange  that  a  raft 
might  be  a  part  of  tiie  drift  of  the  overflow, 
even  had  he  been  entirely  conscious  :  but  liis 
senses  were  failing,  though  he  was  still  able 


60  A   FIEST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA. 

to  keep  a  secure  position  on  the  raft,  and  to 
vaguely  believe  that  it  would  carry  him  to 
some  relief  and  siiceor.  How  long  he  lay  un- 
conscious he  never  knew  ;  in  his  after-recol- 
lections of  that  night,  it  seemed  to  have  been 
haunted  by  dreams  of  passing  dim  banks 
and  strange  places  ;  of  a  face  and  voice  that 
had  been  pleasant  to  him ;  of  a  terror  com- 
ing upon  him  as  he  appeared  to  be  nearing  a 
place  like  that  home  that  he  had  abandoned 
in  the  lonely  tules.  He  was  roused  at  last  by 
a  violent  headache,  as  if  his  soft  felt  hat  had 
been  changed  into  a  tightening  crov/n  of  iron. 
Lifting  his  hand  to  his  head  to  tear  oft"  its 
covering,  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  he 
wa;3  wearing  no  hat,  but  that  his  matted  hair, 
stift'cned  and  dried  with  blood  and  ooze,  was 
clinging  like  a  cap  to  his  skull  in  the  hot 
morning  sunlight.  His  eyelids  and  lashes 
were  glued  together  and  weighted  down  by 
tlie  same  sanguinary  plaster.  He  crawled  to 
the  edge  of  his  frail  raft,  not  without  difft- 
culty,  for  it  oscillated  and  rocked  strangely, 
and  dipped  his  hand  in  the  current.  When 
he  had  cleared  his  eyes  he  lifted  them  witli  a 
shock  of  amazement.  Creeks,  banks,  and 
p'lain  liad  disappeared  :  he  was  alone  on  a 
bend  of  the  tossing  bay  of  San  Francisco  1 


A   FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         Gl 

His  first  and  only  sense  —  cleared  by  fast- 
ing and  quickened  by  reaction  —  was  one  of 
infinite  relief.  lie  was  not  only  free  from 
tlie  vague  terrors  of  the  preceding  days  and 
nights,  but  his  whole  past  seemed  to  be  h)st 
a:id  sunk  forever  in  this  illimitable  expanse. 
.he  low  plain  of  Tasajara,  with  its  steadfast 
monotony  of  light  and  shadow,  had  sunk  bc- 
ncatli  another  level,  but  one  that  glistened, 
sparkled,  was  instinct  with  varying  life,  and 
moved  and  even  danced  below  him.  Tlie 
low  palisades  of  reguiiirly  recurring  tides  that 
had  fenced  in,  impeded,  but  never  relieved 
tlie  blankncss  of  his  horizon,  were  forever 
swallowed  up  behind  him.  All  trail  of  past 
degradation,  all  record  of  pain  and  suffering, 
all  footprints  of  his  wandering  and  misguided 
feet  were  smootlily  wiped  out  in  that  oblit- 
erating sea.  llid  was  j)hysically  helpless, 
and  he  felt  it ;  he  was  in  danger,  and  he 
knew  it,  —  but  he  was  free  ! 

Happily  there  was  but  little  wind  and  the 
sea  was  sliglit.  The  raft  was  still  intact  so 
far  as  he  could  judge,  but  even  in  his  igno- 
rance he  knew  it  would  scarcely  stand  the 
surges  of  tlie  lower  bay.  Like  most  Cali- 
foruians  who  had  ])assed  the  straits  uf 
Carquinez  at  night  in  a  steamer,  he  did  not 


62         A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

recognize  the  locality,  nor  even  the  distant 
peak  of  Tamalpais.  There  were  a  few 
dotting  sails  that  seemed  as  remote,  as 
uncertain,  and  as  unfriendly  as  sea  birds. 
The  raft  was  motionless,  almost  as  motion- 
less as  he  was  in  his  cramped  limbs  and  sun- 
dried,  stiffened  clothes.  Too  weak  to  keep 
an  upright  position,  without  mast,  stick, 
or  oar  to  lift  a  signal  above  that  vast  ex- 
panse, it  seemed  impossible  for  him  to 
attract  attention.  Even  his  pistol  was 
gone. 

Suddenly,  in  an  attempt  to  raise  himself, 
he  was  struck  by  a  flasli  so  Idinding  that 
it  seemed  to  })ierce  his  aching  eyes  and  brain 
and  turned  him  sick.  It  appeared  to  come 
from  a  cre^•ice  between  the  logs  at  the  fur- 
tlier  end  of  the  raft.  Creeping  painfully 
towards  it  he  saw  that  it  was  a  triangular 
sli]i  of  highly  polished  metal  that  he  liad 
liitlierto  overlooked.  He  did  not  know  that 
it  was  a  "flashing"  mirror  used  in  topogra- 
phical observation,  which  had  slipped  from 
t]i(!  surveyors'  instruments  when  they  aban- 
doned the  raft,  l)ut  liis  excited  faculties  in- 
stinctively detected  its  value  to  him.  Tie 
llficd  it.  and.  facing  tlic  sun,  raised  it  at 
different  anules  v>itli  his  feeble  arms.     But 


A   FIRST  FA  MIL  y   OF   TASAJAKA.         G3 

the  effort  was  too  much  for  him ;  the  raft 
presently  seemed  to  be  whhlmg  with  his 
movement,  and  he  again  fell. 

"  Ahoy  there !  " 

The  voice  was  close  upon  —  in  his  very 
ears.  lie  opened  his  eyes.  The  sea  still 
strctclied  emptily  before  him  ;  the  dotting 
sails  still  unchanged  and  distant.  Yet  a 
strange  shadow  lay  upon  the  raft.  He 
turned  his  head  with  difficulty.  On  the  op- 
posite side  —  so  close  upon  him  as  to  be  al- 
most over  his  head  —  the  great  white  sails 
of  a  schooner  hovered  above  him  like  the 
wings  of  some  enormous  sea  bird.  Then 
a  heavy  boom  swung  across  the  raft,  so  low 
that  it  would  have  swept  him  away  had  he 
been  in  an  upright  position ;  the  sides  of 
the  vessel  grazed  the  raft  and  she  fell  slowly 
off.  A  terrible  fear  of  abandonment  took 
possession  of  him  ;  he  tried  to  speak,  but 
could  not.  The  vessel  moved  further  away, 
but  the  raft  followed  !  He  could  see  now  it 
was  being  held  by  a  boat-hook,  —  could  see 
the  odd,  eager  curiosity  on  two  faces  that 
were  raised  above  the  taffrail,  and  witli  tliat 
sense  of  relief  his  eyes  again  closed  in  un- 
consciousness. 


G-1         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

A  feeling  of  chilliness,  followed  by  a  grate- 
ful sensation  of  drawing  closer  under  some 
warm  covering,  a  stinging  taste  in  his  mouth 
of  fiery  liquor  and  the  aromatic  steam  of  hot 
coffee,  were  his  first  returning  sensations. 
His  head  and  neck  were  swathed  in  coarse 
bandages,  and  his  skin  stiffened  and  smart- 
ing with  soap.  Ho  was  lying  in  a  rude 
berth  under  a  half -deck  from  which  he  could 
see  the  sky  and  the  bellying  sail,  and  pres- 
ently a  bearded  face  filled  with  rough  and 
2)ractical  concern  that  peered  down  upon  him. 

"  IIulloo  !  comin'  round,  eh?     Hold  on  !  " 

The  next  moment  the  stranger  had  leaped 
down  beside  Elijah,  He  seemed  to  be  an 
odd  mingling  of  the  sailor  and  ranchero 
with  the  shrev/dness  of  a  seaport  trader. 

"IIulloo,  boss!  What  was  it?  A  free 
fight,  or  a  wash-out  ?  " 

"  A  wash-out  !  "  ^  Elijah  grasped  the 
idea  as  an  ins})iration.  Yes,  his  cabin  had 
been  inundated,  he  had  talccn  to  a  raft, 
had  been  knocked  off  twice  or  thrice,  and 
had  lost  everything  —  even  his  revolver ! 

The  man  looked  relieved.     "  Then  it  ain't 

^  A  niininp;'  term  for  tlie  tempornry  inundation  of  a 
cLiiin  l)y  ilood  ;  tiLso  used  for  tlio  sterilizing  effect  of  flood 
on  fertile  soil. 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA.         65 

a  free  fight,  nor  bavin'  your  crust  busted 
and  bein'  robbed  by  beach  combers,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Elijah,  with  his  first  faint 
smile. 

''  Glad  o'  that,"  said  the  man  bluntly. 
"  Then  thar  ain't  no  police  business  to  tie 
up  to  in  'Frisco  ?  We  were  stuck  thar  a 
week  once,  just  because  we  chanced  to  pick 
up  a  feller  who  "d  been  found  gagged  and 
then  thrown  overboard  by  wharf  thieves. 
Had  to  dance  attendance  at  court  thar  and 
lost  our  trij)."  He  stopped  and  looked  half- 
pathetically  at  the  prostrate  Elijah.  *■'  Look 
yer !  ye  ain't  just  dyin'  to  go  ashore  wo?x'  and 
see  yer  friends  and  send  messages,  are  ye  ?  " 

Elijah  shuddered  inwardly,  but  outwardly 
smiled  faintly  as  he  replied,  "  No  !  " 

"  And  the  tide  and  wind  jest  servin'  us 
now,  ye  would  n't  nund  keepin'  straight  on 
with  us  this  trip  ?  " 

"  AMiere  to  ?  "  asked  Elijah. 

"  Santy  Barbara." 

"No,"  said  Elijah,  after  a  moment's 
pause.     "  I  "11  go  with  you." 

The  man  leaped  to  his  feet,  lifted  his  head 

above  the  u}>})er  deck,  sliouted  "  Let  her  go 

free,  Jerry  I  "  and  then  turned  gratefully  to 

his  passenger.     "■  Look  yer  !     A  wash-out  is 
C— Bret  liurte  v.  22 


66  A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AH  AJAR  A. 

a  wash-out,  1  reckon,  put  it  any  way  you 
like  ;  it  don't  put  anything  back  into  the 
land,  or  anything  back  into  your  pocket 
afterwards,  eh  ?  No !  And  yer  well  out  of 
it,  pardner !  Now  there 's  a  right  smart 
chance  for  locatin'  jest  back  of  Santy  Bar- 
bara, where  thar  ain't  no  God-forsaken  tulen 
to  overflow  ;  and  ez  far  oz  the  laud  and 
licker  lies  ye  '  need  n't  take  any  water  in 
yours '  ef  ye  don't  want  it.  You  kin  start 
fresh  thar,  pardner,  and  brail  up.  What 's 
the  matter  with  you,  old  man,  is  only  fever 
'n'  agur  ketched  in  them  tulen  !  I  kin  see 
it  in  your  eyes.  Now  you  hold  on  whar 
you  be  till  1  go  forrard  and  see  everything 
taut,  and  tlien  1  "11  come  back  and  we  '11 
have  a  talk." 

And  they  did.  Tlie  result  of  which  was 
that  at  the  end  of  a  week's  tossing  and  sea- 
sickness, Eiijuli  Curtis  was  landed  at  Santa 
Barljara,  i)ale,  thin,  but  self-contained  and 
resolute.  And  having  found  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  the  skipper  of  the  Kitty  Hawk, 
general  trader,  lumber-dealei',  and  ranch- 
man, a  week  later  he  was  located  on  the 
skij)])er's  land  and  installed  in  tlie  skip])er"s 
servi(^e.  And  from  that  day,  for  five  years 
Sidon  and  Tasajara  knew  him  no  more. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  part  of  the  functions  of  John 
Milton  Harkutt  to  take  down  the  early 
morning  shutters  and  sweep  out  the  store  for 
his  father  each  day  before  going  to  school. 
It  was  a  peculiarity  of  this  performance  that 
he  was  apt  to  linger  over  it,  partly  from  the 
fact  that  it  pnt  off  the  evil  hour  of  lessons, 
partly  that  he  imparted  into  the  process  a 
purely  imaginative  and  romantic  element 
gathered  from  his  latest  novel-reading.  In 
this  ho  was  usually  assisted  by  one  or  two 
school-fellows  on  their  way  to  school,  who 
always  envied  him  his  superior  menial  occu- 
pation. To  go  to  school,  it  was  felt,  was  a 
connnon  calamity  of  boyhood  that  called  into 
play  only  the  simplest  forms  of  evasion, 
whereas  to  take  down  actual  shutters  in  a 
hoiiajide  store,  and  wield  a  real  broom  that 
raised  a  palpable  cloud  of  dust,  was  some- 
tliing  that  really  taxed  the  noblest  exertions. 
And  it  was  the  morning  after  the  arrival  of 
the  strangers  that  John  Milton  stood  on  the 


()8         A   FJKST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

veranda  of  the  store  ostentatiously  examin- 
ing the  horizon,  with  his  hand  shading  his 
eyes,  as  one  of  his  companions  appeared. 

"  Hollo,  Milt !  wot  yer  doin'  ?  " 

John  Milton  started  dramatically,  and  then 
violently  dashed  at  one  of  tlie  shutters  and 
began  to  detach  it.  "  Ha !  "  he  said  hoarsely. 
'■  Clear  the  ship  for  action !  Open  the 
ports  !  On  deck  there  !  Steady,  you  lub- 
bers !  "  In  an  instant  his  enthusiastic  school- 
fellow was  at  his  side  attacking  another 
shutter.  "  A  long,  low  schooner  bearing 
down  upon  us  !  Lively,  lads,  lively  !  "  con- 
tinued John  Milton,  desisting  a  moment  to 
take  another  dramatic  look  at  the  distant 
plain.  "  How  does  she  head  now?"  he  de- 
manded fiercely. 

"  Sou'  by  sou 'east,  sir,"  responded  the 
other  boy,  frantically  dancing  before  the 
window.     "  But  she  '11  weather  it." 

They  each  tlien  wrested  another  shutter 
away,  violently  depositing  them,  as  they  ran 
to  and  fro,  in  a  rack  at  the  corner  of  the 
veranda.  Added  to  an  extraordinary  and 
unnecessary  clattering  with  their  feet,  they 
accomjianied  their  movements  with  a  singular 
hissing  sound,  supposed  to  indicate  in  one 
breath  the  fury  of  the  elements,  the   bustle 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         69 

of  the  eager  crew,  and  the  wild  excitement 
of  the  coming  conflict.  When  the  last  shut- 
ter was  cleared  away,  John  Milton,  with  the 
cry  "  Man  the  starboard  guns  !  "  dashed  into 
the  store,  whoso  floor  was  marked  by  the 
muddy  footprints  of  yesterday's  buyers, 
seized  a  broom  and  began  to  sweep  violently. 
A  cloud  of  dust  arose,  into  which  his  com- 
panion at  once  precipitated  himself  with 
another  broom  and  a  loud  hang  1  to  indicate 
the  somewhat  belated  sound  of  cannon.  For 
a  few  seconds  the  two  boys  plied  their  brooms 
desperately  in  that  stifling  atmosphere, 
accompanying  each  long  sweep  and  puff  of^ 
dust  out  of  the  open  door  with  tlie  report  of 
explosions  and  loixd  luCs  !  of  defiance,  until 
not  only  the  store,  but  the  veranda  was  ob- 
scured with  a  cloud  which  the  morning  sun 
struggled  vainly  to  pierce.  In  the  midst  of 
this  tumult  and  dusty  confusion  —  happily 
unheard  and  unsuspected  in  the  secluded  do- 
mestic interior  of  the  building  —  a  shrill 
little  voice  arose  from  the  road. 

"  Think  you  're  mighty  smart,  don't 
ye^" 

The  two  naval  heroes  stopped  in  their 
imaginary  fury,  and,  as  the  dust  of  conflict 
cleared  away,  recognized  little  Johnny  Peters 


70         A   FIRUT  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

gazing  at  them  with  mingled  inquisitiveness 
and  envy. 

"  Guess  ye  don't  know  what  happened 
down  the  run  last  night,"  he  continued  im- 
patiently. "  'Lige  Curtis  got  killed,  or  killed 
hisself  !  Blood  all  over  the  rock  down  thar. 
Seed  it,  myseff.  Dad  picked  up  his  six- 
shooter,  —  one  barrel  gone  off.  My  dad  was 
the  first  to  find  it  out,  and  he  "s  bin  to  Squire 
Kerby  tellin'  him." 

The  two  companions,  albeit  burning  with 
curiosity,  affected  indifference  and  pre- 
knowledge. 

"Dad  sez  your  father  druv  'Lige  outer  the 
store  lass  night !  Dad  sez  your  father  's 
'sponsible.  Dad  sez  your  father  cz  good  ez 
killed  him.  Dad  sez  the  squire  '11  set  the 
constable  on  your  father.  Yah ! "  But 
here  the  small  insulter  incontinently  fled, 
pursued  by  both  the  boys.  Nevertheless, 
wlien  he  had  made  good  his  escape,  Jolm 
Milton  showed  neither  a  disposition  to  take 
up  his  former  nautical  role,  nor  to  follow  his 
companion  to  visit  the  sanguinary  scene  of 
Elijah's  disappearance,  lie  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  stoi'C  and  continued  his  work  of 
sweei)ing  and  ])utting  in  order  with  an  al)- 
stracted  regularity,  and  no  trace  of  his 
former  exuberant  spirits. 


A   FIJiST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJAIiA.         71 

The  first  one  of  those  instinctive  fears 
which  are  common  to  imaginative  children, 
and  often  assume  the  functions  of  premoni- 
tion, had  taken  possession  of  hiin.  The 
oddity  of  his  father's  manner  the  evening  be- 
fore, which  had  only  half  consciously  made 
its  indelible  impression  on  his  sensitive  fancy, 
had  recurred  to  him  with  Johnny  Peters's 
speech,  ile  had  no  idea  of  literally  accept- 
ing the  boy's  charges ;  he  scarcely  under- 
stood their  gravity  ;  but  he  had  a  miserable 
feeling  that  his  father's  anger  and  excitement 
last  night  was  because  he  had  been  dis- 
covered hunting  in  the  dark  for  that  paper 
of  'Lige  Curtis's.  It  loas  'Lige  Curtis's 
])a})er,  for  he  had  seen  it  lying  there.  A 
sudden  drcadfid  conviction  came  over  him 
that  he  must  never,  never  let  any  one  know 
that  lie  had  seen  his  father  take  up  that 
])apcr  ;  that  he  must  nevtn-  admit  it,  even  to 
Iiim.  It  was  not  the  boy's  first  knowledge  of 
that  attitude  of  hypocrisy  which  tlie  gi*own- 
up  world  assumes  towards  childhood,  and  in 
whicli  the  innocent  victims  eventually  acqui- 
esce with  a  jSIachiavcllian  subtlety  that  at 
last  avenges  them,  —  but  it  was  his  first 
knowledge  that  tliat  hy^iocrlsy  might  not 
be  so   innocent.     His  father  had  concealed 


72         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  T AS  AJAR  A. 

something   from   him,  because   it   was   not 
right. 

But  i£  childhood  does  not  forget,  it  seldom 
broods  and  is  not  above  being  diverted.  And 
the  two  surveyors  —  of  whose  heroic  advent 
in  a  raft  John  Milton  had  only  heard  that 
morning  —  with  their  traveled  ways,  their 
strange  instruments  and  stranger  talk,  cap- 
tured his  fancy.  Kept  in  the  background  by 
his  sisters  when  visitors  came,  as  an  unpre- 
sentable feature  in  the  household,  he  however 
managed  to  linger  near  the  strangers  when, 
in  company  with  Euphemia  and  Clementina, 
after  breakfast  they  strolled  beneath  the 
sparkling  sunlight  in  the  rude  garden  in- 
closure  along  the  sloping  banks  of  the  creek. 
It  was  with  the  average  brother's  supreme 
contempt  that  he  listened  to  his  sisters' 
"  practicin' "  upon  the  goodness  of  these 
superior  beings  ;  it  was  with  an  exceptional 
pity  that  he  regarded  the  evident  admiration 
of  the  strangers  in  return.  He  felt  that  in 
the  case  of  Euphemia,  who  sometimes 
evinced  a  laudable  curiosity  in  his  pleasures, 
and  a  flattering  ignorance  of  his  reading, 
tills  might  bo  pardonable  ;  but  what  any  one 
could  find  in  the  useless  statuesque  Clemen- 
tina passed  his  comprehension.     Could  they 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         73 

not  sec  at  once  that  she  was  "  just  that  kind 
of  })erson  "  who  would  lie  abed  in  the  morn- 
ing-, })i'etendiug  she  was  sick,  in  ordei*  to  make 
Pheniie  do  the  housework,  and  make  him, 
John  Milton,  clean  her  boots  and  fetch  things 
for  her  ?  Was  it  not  perfectly  plain  to  them 
that  her  present  sickening  politeness  was 
solely  with  a  view  to  extract  from  them 
caramels,  rock-candy,  and  gum  drops,  which 
she  would  meanly  keep  herself,  and  perhaps 
some  "  buggy-riding  "  later  ?  Alas,  John 
Milton,  it  was  not !  For  standing  there  with 
her  tall,  perfectly -proportioned  figure  out- 
lined against  a  willow,  an  elastic  branch  of 
which  she  had  drawn  down  by  one  curved 
arm  above  her  head,  and  on  which  she  leaned 
—  as  everybody  leaned  against  something  in 
Sidon  — the  two  young  men  saw  only  a  stray- 
ing goddess  in  a  glorified  rosebud  print. 
Whether  the  clearly-cut  profile  presented  to 
Rice,  or  the  full  face  that  captivated  Grant, 
each  suggested  possibilities  of  position,  pride, 
poetry,  and  passion  that  astonished  while  it 
fascinated  them.  By  one  of  those  instincts 
known  only  to  the  freemasonry  of  the  sex, 
Euphemla  lent  herself  to  this  advertisement 
of  her  sister's  charms  by  subtle  comparison 
witli  her  own  })rettinesses,  and  thus  com- 
bined against  their  common  enemy,  man. 


74         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAHA. 

"  Clementina  certainly  is  perfect,  to  keep 
her  supremacy  over  that  pretty  little  sister," 
thought  Kice. 

"  What  a  fascinating  little  creature  to 
hold  her  own  against  that  tall,  handsome 
girl,"  thought  Grant. 

"  They  're  takin'  stock  o'  them  two  fellers 
so  as  to  gabble  about  'em  when  their  backs 
is  turned,"  said  John  Milton  gloomily  to 
himself,  with  a  dismal  premonition  of  the 
prolonged  tea-table  gossip  he  would  be 
obliged  to  listen  to  later. 

"  We  were  very  fortunate  to  make  a  land- 
ing at  all  last  night,"  said  Rice,  looking 
down  upon  the  still  swollen  current,  and 
then  raising  his  eyes  to  Clementina.  "  Still 
more  fortunate  to  make  it  where  we  did.  I 
suppose  it  must  have  been  the  singing  that 
lured  us  on  to  the  bank,  —  as,  you  know,  the 
sirens  used  to  lure  people,  —  only  with  less 
disastrous  consequences." 

John  Milton  here  detected  three  glaring 
errors  ;  first,  it  was  iiot  Clementina  who  had 
sung  ;  secondly,  he  knew  that  neither  of  his 
sisters  had  ever  read  anything  about  sirens, 
but  lie  liad  :  tliirdh',  that  the  young  surveyor 
was  glai-ingly  ignorant  of  local  phenomena 
and  should  be  corrected. 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASA.IARA.         75 

"It's  notliin'  but  the  current,'  lie  said, 
with  that  feverish  youthful  haste  that  be- 
trays a  fatal  experience  of  impending  inter- 
ruption. "  It 's  always  leavin'  drift  and 
rubbish  from  everywhere  bere.  There  ain't 
anythin'  that 's  chucked  into  the  creek  above 
that  ain't  bound  to  fetch  i;p  on  this  bank. 
Why,  there  was  two  sheep  and  a  dead  boss 
here  long-  afore  you  tho^ight  of  coming  I  " 
lie  did  not  understand  why  this  should  pro- 
voke the  laughter  that  it  did,  and  to  prove 
that  he  had  no  ulterior  meaning,  added  with 
pointed  politeness,  '•'^o  it  isnt  your  f(ndt, 
you  know  —  you  could  n't  help  it ;  "  supple- 
menting this  with  the  distinct  courtesy, 
"  otherwise  you  would  n't  have  come." 

"  But  it  would  seem  that  your  visitors  ar(; 
not  all  as  accidental  as  your  l)i'other  would 
imply,  and  one,  at  least,  seems  to  have  been 
ex])ected  last  evening.  You  remember  you 
thought  we  were  a  Mr.  Parmlee,"  said  Mr. 
Rico  looking  at  Clementina. 

It  would  bo  strange  indeed,  he  thought,  if 
the  Ijcautiful  girl  were  not  surrounded  by 
admirers.  But  without  a  trace  of  self-con- 
sciousness, or  any  ciiange  in  her  ri^poseful 
face,  she  indicated  her  sister  with  a  sligiit 
<^esture,     and     said :     "  One    of     Phemie's 


76         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

friends.  He  gave  her  the  accordion.  She  's 
very  popular." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  are  very  hard  to 
please  ?  "  he  said  with  a  tentative  smile. 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  large,  clear 
eyes,  and  that  absence  of  coquetry  or 
changed  expression  in  her  beautiful  face 
which  might  have  stood  for  indifference  or 
dignity  as  she  said  :  "  I  don't  know.  I  am 
waiting  to  see." 

But  here  jSIiss  Pliemie  broke  in  saucily 
with  the  assertion  that  ]\Ir.  Parmlee  might 
not  have  a  railroad  in  his  pocket,  but  that 
at  least  he  did  n't  have  to  wait  for  the  Flood 
to  call  on  young  ladies,  nor  did  he  usually 
come  in  pairs,  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  had 
been  let  out  of  Noah's  Ark,  but  on  horse- 
back and  like  a  Christian  by  the  front  door. 
All  this  provokingly  and  bewitchingly  deliv- 
ered, however,  and  with  a  simulated  exag- 
geration that  was  incited  apparently  more 
by  ]\Ir.  Lawrence  Grant's  evident  enjoyment 
of  it.  than  by  any  desire  to  defend  the  ab- 
sent I'armlee. 

''  But  where  is  the  front  door  ?  "  asked 
Grant  Laughingly. 

The  young  girl  pointed  to  a  narrow  zig- 
zag path  that  ran  up  the  bank  beside  the 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         77 

house  until  it  stopped  at  a  small  picketed 
gate  on  the  level  of  the  road  and  store. 

"  But  I  should  think  it  would  be  easier  to 
have  a  door  and  private  passage  through  the 
store,"  said  Grant. 

"  We  don't,"  said  the  young  ladj  pertly, 
"  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  store.  I 
go  in  to  see  paw  sometimes  when  he  's  shut- 
ting up  and  there  's  nobody  there,  but  Clem 
has  never  set  foot  in  it  since  we  came.  It 's 
bad  enough  to  have  it  and  the  lazy  loafers 
that  hang  around  it  as  near  to  us  as  they 
are  ;  but  paw  built  the  house  in  such  a  fash- 
ion that  we  ain't  troubled  by  their  noise,  and 
we  might  be  t'  other  side  of  the  creek  as  far 
as  our  having  to  come  across  them.  And  be- 
cause paw  has  to  sell  pork  and  flour,  we  have 
n"t  any  call  to  go  there  and  watch  him  do  it." 

The  two  men  glanced  at  each  other.  This 
reserve  and  fastidiousness  were  somethin<j 
rare  in  a  pioneer  community.  Ilarkutt's 
manners  certainly  did  not  indicate  that  he 
was  troubled  by  this  sensitiveness ;  it  must 
have  been  some  individual  temperament  of 
his  daughters.  Ste})heu  felt  his  respect  in- 
crease for  the  goddess-like  Clementina ; 
Mr.  Lawrence  Grant  looked  at  Miss  Phemie 
with  a  critical  smile. 


78         .1    FIliST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAILl. 

"  But  you  must  be  very  limited  in  your 
company,"  he  said  ;  ''  or  is  jMr.  l^armlee  not 
a  customer  of  your  father's  ? 

"As  Mr.  Parmlee  does  not  come  to  us 
through  the  store,  and  don't  talk  trade  to 
me,  we  don't  know,"  responded  Phemie  sau- 
cily. 

"  But  have  you  no  lady  acquaintances  — 
neighbors  —  who  also  avoid  the  store  and 
enter  only  at  the  straight  and  narrow  gate 
up  there  ?  "  continued  Grant  mischievously, 
regardless  of  the  uneasy,  half-reproachful 
glances  of  Rice. 

But  Phemie,  triumphantly  oblivious  of 
any  satire,  answered  promptly :  '•  If  you 
mean  the  Pike  County  Billingses  who  live 
on  the  turnpike  road  as  much  as  they  do  off 
it,  or  the  six  daughters  of  that  Georgia 
Ciacker  who  wear  men's  boots  and  hats,  we 
have  n't." 

"  And  Mr.  Parmlee,  your  admirer  ?  "  sug- 
gested Pice.  "  lias  n't  he  a  mother  or  sis- 
ters liere  ?  " 

""  Yes,  but  they  don't  want  to  know  us, 
and  have  never  called  here." 

The  embarrassment  of  the  questioner  at 
this  unexpected  reidy,  which  came  fiom  the 
faultless  lips  of  Clementina,  was  somewhat 


A   FJliST    t'AMILY    OF   TAt^A.IAUA.         79 

nuti!j,'at(><l  by  the  fact  that  tlie  young  wo- 
man's voice  and  manner  betrayed  ueither 
annoyance  nor  anger. 

Here,  however,  Ilarkutt  appeared  from 
the  liouse  witli  the  information  that  he  had 
secured  two  liorscs  for  th^e  surveyors  and 
their  instruments,  and  that  ho  would  ]iim- 
self  accompany  tliem  a  part  of  the  way  on 
their  return  to  Tasajara  Creek,  to  sliow  them 
the  road.  His  usual  listless  deliberation 
had  given  way  to  a  certain  nervous  but  un- 
easy energy.  If  they  started  at  once  it 
would  be  better,  before  the  loungers  gath- 
ered at  the  store  and  confused  them  with 
lazy  counsel  and  languid  curiosity.  He  took 
it  for  granted  that  Mr.  Grant  wished  the 
railroad  survey  to  be  a  secret,  and  he  had 
said  nothing,  as  they  would  be  pestered  with 
questions.  "  Sidon  was  inquisitive  —  and 
old-fashioned."'  The  benefit  its  inhabitants 
would  get  from  the  railroad  would  not  pre- 
vent them  from  throwing  obstacles  in  its 
way  at  first ;  he  remembered  the  way  they 
had  acted  with  a  proposed  wagon  road,  —  in 
fact,  an  idea  of  his  own.  soiuething  like  the 
railroad  ;  ho  knew  tliem  thoroughly,  and  if 
he  might  advise  tliem,  it  would  be  to  say 
nothing  here  until  the  thing  was  settled. 


80         A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

"  lie  evidently  does  not  intend  to  give  us 
a  chance,"  said  Grant  good-huraoredly  to  his 
companion,  as  they  turned  to  prepare  for 
their  journey ;  "  we  are  to  be  conducted  in 
silence  to  the  outskirts  of  the  town  like 
horse-thieves." 

"  But  you  gave  him  the  tip  for  himself," 
said  Rice  reproachfully  ;  "  you  cannot  blame 
him  for  wanting  to  keep  it." 

"  I  gave  it  to  him  in  trust  for  his  two  in- 
credible daughters,"  said  Grant  with  a  gri- 
mace. "  But,  hang  it !  if  I  don't  believe 
the  fellow  has  more  concern  in  it  than  I 
imagined." 

"  But  is  n't  she  perfect  ?  "  said  Rice,  with 
charming  abstraction. 

"Who?" 

"  Clementina,  and  so  unlike  her  father." 

"  Discomposingly  so,"  said  Grant  quietly. 
"One  feels  in  calling  her  'Miss  Harkutt ' 
as  if  one  were  touching  upon  a  manifest  in- 
discretion. But  here  comes  John  Milton. 
Well,  my  lad,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

The  boy,  who  had  been  regarding  them 
from  a  distance  with  wistful  and  curious 
eyes  as  they  replaced  their  instruments  for 
the  journ(3y,  had  gradually  approached  them. 
After  a  moment's  timid  hesitation  he  said, 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAJiA.         81 

looking  at  Grant :  "  You  don't  know  any- 
body in  this  kind  o'  business,"  pointing  to 
tlie  instruments,  "  who  'd  like  a  boy,  about 
my  size  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  not,  J.  M.,"  said  Grant, 
cheerfully,  without  suspending  his  operation. 
"  The  fact  is,  you  see,  it 's  not  exactly  the 
kind  of  work  for  a  boy  of  your  size." 

John  Milton  was  silent  for  a  moment,  shift- 
ing himself  slowly  from  one  leg  to  another 
as  he  watched  the  surveyor.  After  a  pause 
he  said,  "  There  don't  seem  to  be  much  show 
in  this  world  for  boys  o'  my  size.  There 
don't  seem  to  be  much  use  for  'em  any  way." 
This  not  bitterly,  but  philosophically,  and 
even  politely,  as  if  to  relieve  Grant's  rejec- 
tion of  any  incivility. 

"  Keally  you  quite  pain  me,  John  Milton," 
said  Grant,  looking  u])  as  he  tightened  a 
buckle.  "  I  never  thought  of  it  before,  but 
you're  right." 

"  Now,"  continued  the  boy  slowly,  "  with 
girls  it's  just  different.  Ciirls  of  my  size 
everybody  does  things  for.  There  's  Clemmy, 
—  she's  only  two  years  older  nor  me,  and 
don't  know  half  that  i  do,  and  yet  she  kin 
lie  about  all  day,  and  has  n't  to  get  up  to 
breakfast.     And  Pheniie,  —  who  's  jest  the 


82         A   FIRST   FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA. 

same  age,  size,  and  weight  as  ine,  —  maw  and 
paw  lets  her  do  everything  she  wants  to. 
And  so  does  everybody.  And  so  would 
you." 

"  But  you  surely  don't  want  to  be  like  a 
girl?"'  said  Grant,  smiling. 

Ifc  here  occurred  to  John  Milton's  youth- 
ful but  not  illogical  mind  that  this  was  not 
argument,  and  he  turned  disappointedly 
away.  As  his  father  was  to  accompany  the 
strangers  a  short  distance,  he,  John  IMilton, 
was  to-day  left  in  charge  of  the  store.  That 
duty,  however,  did  not  involve  any  pecuniary 
transactions  —  the  taking  of  money  or  mak- 
ing of  change — but  a  simple  record  on  a 
slate  behind  the  counter  of  articles  selected 
by  those  customers  whose  urgent  needs  coidd 
not  wait  Mr.  Ilarkutt's  return.  Perhaps  on 
account  of  this  degrading  limitation,  perhaps 
for  other  reasons,  the  boy  did  not  fancy  the 
task  imposed  upon  him.  The  presence  of 
the  idle  loungers  who  usually  occu})ied  the 
armchairs  near  the  stove,  and  occasionally 
the  counter,  dissipated  any  romance  with 
which  ho  miglit  have  invested  his  charge  ; 
he  wearied  of  the  monotony  of  th.eir  dull 
gossij),  but  mostly  he  loathed  tiie  attitude  of 
hypercritical  counsel  and  instruction  which 


A   FIIiST  FAifIL  F   OF   TA^AJARA.         83 

tliey  saw  fit  to  assume  towards  him  at  such 
moments.  "  Instead  o'  lazin'  thar  behind 
the  counter  when  your  father  ain't  here  to 
see  ye,  eJohn,"  remarked  Billings  from  the 
depths  of  his  armchair  a  few  moments  after 
Ilarkutt  had  ridden  away,  "ye  orter  be 
bustlin'  round,  dustin'  the  shelves.  Ye  '11 
never  come  to  anythiu'  when  you  're  a  man 
ef  you  go  on  lilce  that.  Ye  never  huard  o' 
Harry  Clay  —  that  was  called  '  the  Mill-boy 
of  the  Slashes  '  —  sittin'  down  doin'  nothin' 
when  he  was  a  boy." 

"  I  never  heard  of  him  loafin'  round  in  a 
grocery  stove  when  he  was  growned  up 
eitlier,"  responded  John  JSIilton,  darkly. 

"•  P'r'aps  3'ou  reckon  he  got  to  be  a  great 
man  by  standin'  u])  sassin'  his  father's  cus- 
tomers," said  Peters,  angrily.  "  I  kin  tell 
ye,  young  man,  if  you  was  my  boy  "  — 

"  If  I  was  y<jnr\)OY,  I  'd  be  playin'  hookey 
instead  of  goin'  to  school,  jest  as  your  boy 
is  doin'  now."  interrupted  John  ISIilton,  with 
a  literal  recollection  of  his  quarrel  and  pur- 
suit of  the  youth  in  rpiestion  that  morning. 

An  undignified  silence  on  tlic  part  of  the 
adults  followed,  the  usual  sequel  to  those 
])assages  :  Sidon  generally  declining  to  ex- 
pose itself  to  tlie  youthful  Ilarkutt's  terrible 
accuracy  of  statement. 


84         A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

The  ineu  resumed  their  previous  lazy  gos- 
sip about  Elijah  Curtis's  disappearance,  with 
occasional  mysterious  allusions  in  a  lower 
tone,  which  the  boy  instinctively  knew  re- 
ferred to  his  father,  but  which  either  from 
indolence  or  caution,  the  two  great  conserva- 
tors of  Sidon,  were  never  formulated  dis- 
tinctly enough  for  his  relentless  interfer- 
ence. The  morning  sunshine  was  slowly 
thickening  again  in  an  indolent  mist  that 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  saturated  plain.  A 
stray  lounger  shuffled  over  from  the  black- 
smith's shop  to  the  store  to  take  the  place 
of  another  idler  who  liad  joined  an  equally 
lethargic  circle  around  the  slumbering  forge. 
A  dull  intermittent  sound  of  liammering  came 
occasionally  from  the  wlieelwright's  shed  — 
at  sufficiently  protracted  intervals  to  indi- 
cate the  enfeebled  progress  of  Sidon's  vehi- 
cular repair.  A  yellow  dog  left  his  patch 
of  sunliglit  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way 
and  walked  deliberately  over  to  what  ap- 
peared to  be  more  luxurious  quarters  on  tlie 
veranda ;  was  manifestly  disajipointed  but 
not  ecjual  to  the  exertion  of  returning,  and 
sank  down  witli  l)linking  eyes  and  a  re- 
gretful sigh  without  going  further.  A  pro- 
cession  of   six  ducks   got  well  into  a  line 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAUA.         85 

for  a  laborious  "  march  past "  the  store,  but 
fell  out  at  the  first  mud  j^udcUe  and  gave  it 
up.  A  highly  nervous  but  respectable  hen, 
who  had  ventured  upon  the  veranda  evi- 
dently against  her  better  instincts,  walked 
painfully  on  tiptoe  to  the  door,  ai)parently 
was  met  by  language  which  no  mother  of  a 
family  could  listen  to,  and  retired  in  strong 
hysterics.  A  little  later  the  sun  became 
again  obscured,  the  wind  arose,  rain  fell,  and 
the  opportunity  for  going  indoors  and  doing 
notliing  was  once  more  availed  of  by  all 
Sidon. 

It  was  afternoon  when  Mr.  Ilarkutt  re- 
turned, lie  did  not  go  into  the  store,  but 
entered  the  dwelling  from  the  little  picket- 
gate  and  steep  path.  There  he  called  a 
family  council  in  the  sitting-room  as  being 
the  most  reserved  and  secure.  Mrs,  Ilar- 
kutt, symj)athiziug  and  cheerfully  ready  for 
any  affliction,  still  holding  a  dust-cloth  in 
her  hand,  took  her  seat  by  the  window,  with 
Phemie  breathless  and  sparkling  at  one  side 
of  her,  while  Clementina,  all  faultless  profile 
and  r(>pose,  sat  on  the  other.  To  Mrs.  II ar- 
kutt's  motherly  concern  at  Jolm  Milton's 
absence,  it  was  pointed  out  that  he  was 
wanted  at  the  store,  —  was  a  mere  boy  any- 


86         .1  FIRUT  FAMILY   OF   T AS  AJAR  A. 

how,  and  could  not  be  trusted.  Mr.  Har- 
kutt,  a  little  ruddier  from  weather,  excite- 
ment, and  the  unusual  fortification  of  a  glass 
of  liquor,  a  little  more  rugged  in  the  lines 
of  his  face,  and  with  an  odd  ring  of  defiant 
self-assertion  in  his  voice,  stood  before  them 
in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

lie  wanted  them  to  listen  to  him  care- 
fully, to  remember  what  he  said,  for  it  was 
important :  it  might  be  a  matter  of  "  law- 
ing  "  hereafter,  — and  he  could  n't  be  always 
repeating  it  to  them,  —  he  would  have 
enough  to  do.  There  was  a  heap  of  it  that, 
as  women-folks,  they  could  n't  understand, 
and  were  n't  expected  to.  But  he  'd  got  it 
all  clear  now,  and  what  he  was  saying  was 
gospel.  He  'd  always  known  to  himself 
that  the  only  good  that  could  ever  come  to 
Sidon  would  come  by  railroad.  When  those 
fools  talked  wagon  road  he  had  said  nothing, 
but  he  had  his  own  ideas ;  lie  had  worked 
for  that  idea  without  saying  anything  to 
anybody  ;  that  idea  was  to  get  possession  of 
all  tlie  land  along  the  emharcadero^  which 
nobody  cared  for,  and  'lA^a  Curtis  was  ready 
to  sell  for  a  song.  Well,  now,  considering 
wliat  had  ha])pened,  he  did  n't  mind  telling 
them  that   he   had  been  gradually  getting 


A    F/RST   FA}fll.Y   OF   TASA.IAHA.         87 

;j)OSscssion  of  it,  little  by  little,  paying  'I^ige 
Curtis  in  advances  and  Installments,  until  it 
was  his  own !  They  had  heard  what  those 
surveyors  said  ;  how  that  it  was  the  only  fit 
terminus  for  the  railroad.  Well,  that  land, 
and  that  water-front,  and  the  terminus  were 
Ills!  And  all  from  his  own  foresight  and 
prudence. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  this  was  not  the 
truth.  ]3ut  it  is  necessary  to  point  out  that 
this  fabrication  was  the  result  of  his  last 
night's  cogitations  and  his  morning's  experi- 
ence. He  had  resolved  upon  a  bold  course. 
lie  had  reflected  that  his  neighbors  would 
be  more  ready  to  believe  in  and  to  respect  a 
hard,  mercenary,  and  speculative  foresight 
in  his  taking  advantage  of  'Lige's  necessities 
than  if  he  had  —  as  was  the  case  —  merely 
benefited  by  them  through  an  accident  of 
circumstance  and  good  humor.  In  the  lat- 
ter (!ase  he  would  be  envied  and  hated  ;  in 
the  foi'mer  he  would  be  envied  and  feared. 
By  logic  of  circumstance  the  greater  wrong 
seemed  to  be  less  obviously  offensive  than 
the  minor  fault.  It  was  true  that  it  involved 
the  doing  of  something  lie  liad  not  contem- 
plated, and  the  eertaintv  of  exposure  if 
'Lige  evei-  returned,  but  he  was  nevertheless 


88         A   F/IiST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

resolved.  The  step  from  passive  to  active 
wrong-doing  is  not  only  easy,  it  is  often  a 
relief  ;  it  is  that  return  to  sincerity  which 
we  all  require.  Howbeit,  it  gave  that  ring 
of  assertion  to  Daniel  Harkutt's  voice  al- 
ready noted,  which  most  women  like,  and 
only  men  are  prone  to  suspect  or  challenge. 
The  incompleteness  of  his  statement  was,  for 
the  same  reason,  overlooked  by  his  feminine 
auditors. 

"And  what  is  it  worth,  dad?"  asked 
Phemie  eagerly. 

"  Grant  says  I  oughter  get  at  least  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  the  site  of  the  terminus 
from  the  com2:)any,  but  of  course  I  shall  hold 
on  to  the  rest  of  the  land.  The  moment 
they  get  the  terminus  there,  and  the  depot 
and  wharf  built,  I  can  get  my  own  price  and 
buyers  for  the  rest.  Before  the  year  is  out 
Orant  thinks  it  ought  to  go  up  ten  per  cent 
on  the  value  of  the  terminus,  and  that  a 
hundred  thousand." 

"  Oh,  dad  I  "  gasped  Phemie,  frantically 
clas])ing  her  knees  with  both  hands  as  if  to 
perfectly  assure  herself  of  this  good  fortune. 

Mrs.  Ilarkutt  audil)ly  murmured  "Poor 
dear  Dan'l,"  and  stood,  as  it  were,  sympa- 
thetically by,  ready  to  commiserate  the  pains 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.         89 

and  anxieties  of  wealth  as  she  had  those  of 
poverty.  Clementina  alone  remained  silent, 
clear-eyed,  and  unchanged. 

"•  And  to  think  it  all  came  through  them/ " 
continued  Phemie.  "  I  always  had  an  idea 
that  Mr.  Grant  was  smart,  dad.  And  it 
was  real  kind  of  him  to  tell  you." 

"  I  reckon  father  could  have  found  it  out 
without  them.  I  don't  know  why  we  should 
be  beholden  to  them  particularly.  I  hope 
he  is  n't  expected  to  let  them  think  that 
he  is  bound  to  consider  them  our  intimate 
friends  just  because  they  happened  to  drop 
in  here  at  a  time  when  his  plans  have  suc- 
ceeded." 

The  voice  was  Clementina's,  unexpected 
but  quiet,  unemotional  and  convincing.  "  It 
seemed,"  as  Mrs.  Ilarkutt  afterwards  said, 
"  as  if  the  child  had  already  touched  that 
hundred  thousand."  Phemie  reddened  with 
a  sense  of  convicted  youthful  extravagance. 

"  You  need  n't  fear  for  me,"  said  Ilarkutt, 
responding  to  Clementina's  voice  as  if  it 
were  an  echo  of  his  own,  and  instinctively 
recognizing  an  unexpected  ally.  "I  've  got 
my  own  ideas  of  this  thing,  and  what 's  to 
come  of  it.  1  "ve  got  my  own  ideas  of 
opeuiu'  up  that  property  and  showin'  its  re- 


90         A  FIIiST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAMA. 

sources.  I  'm  goiu'  to  run  it  my  own  way. 
I  'm  goin'  to  have  a  town  along  the  ernbar- 
cadero  that  '11  lay  over  any  town  in  Contra 
Costa.  I  'm  goiu'  to  have  the  court-house 
and  county  seat  there,  and  a  couple  of  hotels 
as  good  as  any  in  the  Bay.  I  'm  goin'  to 
build  that  wagon  road  through  here  that 
those  lazy  louts  slipped  up  on,  and  carry  it 
clear  over  to  Five  Mile  Corner,  and  open  up 
the  whole  Tasajara  Plain  !  " 

They  had  never  seen  him  look  so  strong, 
so  resolute,  so  intelligent  and  handsome. 
A  dimly  prophetic  vision  of  him  in  a  black 
broadcloth  suit  and  gold  watch-chain  ad- 
dressing a  vague  multitude,  as  she  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  the  Hon.  Stanley  Kiggs 
of  Alasco  at  the  ''Great  Barbecue,"  rose  be- 
fore Phemie's  blue  eni-aptured  eyes.  With 
the  exception  of  Mi-s.  liarkutt,  —  equal  to 
any  possibilities  on  the  part  of  her  husband, 
—  they  had  honestly  never  expected  it  of 
him.  They  were  pleased  with  their  father's 
attitude  in  prosperity,  and  felt  that  perhaps 
he  was  not  unworthy  of  being  proud  of  them 
hereafter. 

"  But  we  're  goin'  to  leave  Sidon,"  said 
Phemie,  "  ain"t  we,  paw  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  run  up  a  new  house  at 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASA.IARA.         91 

the  o,mh(irc((dcro,'"  said  Ilarkiitt  pecvislily, 
"  and  that  *s  got  to  be  done  mighty  quick  if 
I  want  to  make  a  show  to  the  com})any  and 
be  in  possession." 

"  And  that 's  easier  for  you  to  do,  dear, 
now  that  Lige  's  disappeared,"  said  Mrs. 
I  larkutt  consolingly. 

"  What  do  ye  mean  by  that  ?  What  the 
devil  are  ye  talkin'  about  ?  "  demanded  Ilar- 
kutt  suddenly  with  unexpected  exasperation. 

'•  I  mean  that  that  drunken  'Lige  would 
be  mighty  i^oor  company  for  tiie  girls  if  he 
was  our  only  neighbor,"'  returned  Mrs.  Ilar- 
kutt  submissively. 

liarkutt,  after  a  fixed  survey  of  his  wife, 
a])peared  mollified.  The  two  girls,  who  were 
mindful  of  hi.-i  previous  outburst  the  evening 
before,  exch;njgcd  glances  which  implied  that 
his  manners  needed  correction  for  prosperity. 

"  You  11  want  a  heap  o'  money  to  build 
there,  Dan"l,'"  said  Mrs.  liarkutt  in  plain- 
tive diffidence. 

"  Yes !  Yes  !  "  said  liarkutt  impatiently. 
"  I  've  kalkilated  all  that,  and  I  'm  goin'  to 
'Frisco  to-morrow  to  raise  it  and  put  this 
bill  of  sale  on  record.""  lie  half  drew 
Elijali  Curtis's  pa]ior  from  his  pocket,  but 
paused  and  put  it  back  again. 


92         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  A  JAR  A. 

"  Then  that  vas  the  pai)er,  dad,"  said 
Pheraie  triumphantly. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father,  regarding  her  fix- 
edly, "  and  you  know  now  why  I  did  n't 
want  anything  said  about  it  last  night  — 
nor  even  now." 

"  And  'Lige  had  just  given  it  to  you  ! 
Wasn't  it  lucky?" 

"  He  had  iit  just  given  it  to  me !  "  said 
her  father  with  another  unexpected  out- 
burst. "  God  Amighty !  ain't  I  tellin'  you 
all  the  time  it  was  an  old  matter !  But  you 
jabber,  jabber  all  the  time  and  don't  listen ! 
Where  's  John  Milton? "  It  had  occurred  to 
him  that  the  boy  might  have  reael  the  paper 
—  as  his  sister  had  —  while  it  lay  unheeded 
on  the  counter. 

"  In  the  store,  —  you  know.  You  said  he 
was  n't  to  hear  anything  of  this,  but  I  '11 
call  him,"  said  Mrs.  Ilarkutt,  rising  eagerly. 

"  Never  mind,"  returned  her  husband, 
stopping  her  reflectively,  "  best  leave  it  as  it 
is  ;  if  it 's  necessary  I  '11  tell  him.  But  don't 
any  of  3'ou  say  anything,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

Nevertheless  a  few  hours  later,  when  the 
store  was  niomcntarily  free  of  loungers,  and 
Ilarkutt  liad  relieved  his  son  of  his  mono- 
tonous charge,   he   made   a  pretense,  while 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA.         93 

abstractedly  listening  to  an  account  of  the 
boy's  stewardship,  to  look  through  a  drawer 
as  if  in  search  of  some  missing  article. 

"  You  did  n't  see  anything  of  a  paper  I  left 
somewhere  about  here  yesterday  ?  "  he  asked 
carelessly. 

"  The  one  you  picked  up  when  you  came 
in  last  night  ?  "  said  the  boy  with  discompos- 
ing directness. 

llarkutt  flushed  slightly  and  drew  his 
breath  between  his  set  teeth.  Not  only 
could  he  place  no  reliance  upon  ordinary 
youthful  inattention,  but  he  must  be  on  his 
guard  against  his  own  son  as  from  a  spy  ! 
But  he  restrained  himself. 

"  I  don't  remember,"  he  said  with  affected 
deliberation,  "  what  it  was  I  picked  up.  Do 
you  ?     Did  you  read  it  ?  " 

The  meaning  of  his  father's  attitude  in- 
stinctively flashed  i;pon  the  boy.  He  had 
read  the  pa])er,  but  he  answered,  as  he  had 
already  determined,  '"  No." 

An  inspiration  seized  Mr.  llarkutt.  lie 
drew  "Lige  Curtis's  bill  of  sale  from  his 
])ocket,  and  opening  it  before  John  Milton 
said.  ••  Wasit  that?"' 

"  I  don't  know."'  said  the  boy.  "•  I 
could   n"t    tell."'     lie    walked    away    with 


94         A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

affected  carelessness,  already  with  a  sense  of 
playing  some  part  like  his  father,  and  pre- 
tended to  whistle  for  the  dog  across  the  street. 
Harkutt    coughed    osteatatiously,    put    the 
paper  back  in  his    pocket,    set  one   or  two 
boxes    straight    on    the  counter,  locked  the 
drawer,  and  disappeared  into  the  back  pas- 
sage.   John  iMilton  remained  standinir  in  the 
doorway  looking  vacantly  out.     But  he  did 
not  see  the  dull  familiar  prospect  beyond. 
lie  only  saw  the  paper  his  father  had  opened 
and  unfolded  before  him.     It  was  the  same 
paper  he  had   read  last  night.     But    there 
were  three  words  written  there  that  were  not 
there  he/ore  !     After  the  words  "  Value  re- 
ceived "  there  had  been  a  blank.     He  remem- 
bered that  distinctly.     This  was  filled  in  by 
the  words,  '"  Five  hundred    dollars."      The 
handwriting  did  not  seem  like  his  father's, 
nor  yet  entirely  like  'Lige  Curtis's.     What 
it  meant  he  did  not  know,  —  he  would  not 
try  to  think.    He  should  forget  it,  as  he  had 
tried  to  forget  what  had  happened  before, 
and  he  should  never  tell  it  to  any  one  ! 

Tiiere  was  a  feverish  gayety  in  his  sisters' 
manner  tliat  afternoon  tliat  he  did  not  under- 
stand ;  short  colloquies  that  w(>re  suspended 
with  ill  concealed  impatience  when  he  came 


A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.  95 

near  thein,  and  resumed  when  he  was  sent, 
on  e(|ually  palpable  excuses,  out  of  the  room. 
He  had  been  accustomed  to  this  exclusion 
when  there  were  strangers  pi*esent,  but  it 
seemed  odd  to  him  now,  when  the  conversa- 
tion did  not  even  turn  upon  the  two  superior 
visitors  who  had  been  there,  and  of  whom  he 
confidently  expected  they  would  talk.  Such 
fragments  as  he  overheard  were  always  in 
the  future  tense,  and  referred  to  what  they 
intended  to  do.  His  mother,  whose  affection 
for  liim  had  always  been  shown  in  excessive 
and  depressing-  commiseration  of  him  in  even 
his  lightest  moments,  that  afternoon  seemed 
to  add  a  pro])lietic  and  Cassandra-like  sym- 
pathy for  some  vague  future  of  his  that 
would  ixMUiiro  all  her  ministration.  "  You 
won't  need  them  new  boots,  ]\Iilty  dear,  in 
tlie  changes  that  may  be  comin'  to  ye  ;  so 
don't  be  botliering  your  poor  father  in  his 
worriments  over  his  new  plans."' 

'•  What  new  plans,  monuner  ?  "  asked  the 
boy  abruptly.  "  Are  we  goiu'  away  from 
here?" 

'•Hush,  dear,  and  don't  ask  questions 
that  's  enough  foi'  gi'own  folks  to  worry  over, 
let  alone  a  boy  like  you.  Now  be  good,"  — 
a  quality    in  Mrs.  Harkutts  mind  synony- 


96         A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

mous  with  ceasing  from  troubling,  —  "  and 
after  supper,  while  I  'in  in  the  parlor  with 
your  father  and  sisters,  you  kin  sit  up  here 
by  the  fire  with  your  book." 

"  But,"  persisted  the  boy  in  a  flash  of  in- 
spiration, "  is  popper  goin'  to  join  in  busi- 
ness with  those  surveyors,  —  a  survey  in'  ?  " 

"]So,  child,  what  an  ideal  Run  away 
there,  —  and  mind  I  —  don't  bother  your 
father." 

Nevertheless  John  Milton's  inspiration  had 
taken  a  new  and  characteristic  shape.  All 
this,  he  reflected,  had  happened  since  the 
surveyors  came  —  since  they  had  weakly 
displayed  such  a  shameless  and  unmanly 
interest  in  his  sisters !  It  could  have  but 
one  meaning.  He  hung  around  the  sit- 
ting-room and  passages  until  lie  eventually 
encountered  Clementina,  taller  than  ever, 
evidently  wearing  a  guilty  satisfaction  in 
her  face,  engrafted  ujion  that  habitual  bear- 
ing of  hers  which  he  had  always  recognized 
as  belonging  to  a  vague  but  objectionable 
race  whose  membci'S  were  individually  known 
to  liim  as  ''  a  proudy." 

••  Which  of  those  two  surveyor  fellows  is 
it,  Clemmy  ?  '  he  said  witli  an  engaging 
smile,  yet  halting  at  a  strategic  distance. 


A   FIRST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJAKA.         97 

"Is  what?" 

"  Wot  you  're  goin'  to  marry." 

"  Idiot : " 

^  That  ain't  tellin'  which,"  responded  the 
boy  darkly. 

Clementina  swept  by  him  into  the  sitting- 
room,  where  he  heard  her  declare  that  "  really 
that  boy  was  getting  too  low  and  vulgar  for 
anything."  Yet  it  struck  him,  that  being 
pressed  for  further  explanation,  she  did  not 
specify  why.      This  was  "  girls'  meanness !  " 

Howbeit  he  lingered  late  in  the  road  that 
evening,  hearing  his  father  discuss  with  the 
search-party  that  had  followed  the  banks  of 
the  creek,  vainly  looking  for  further  traces 
of  the  missing  'Lige,  the  possibility  of  his 
being  living  or  dead,  of  the  body  having 
been  carried  away  by  the  current  to  the  bay 
or  turning  up  later  in  sonic  distant  marsh 
when  tlic  spring  came  with  low  water.  One 
who  had  been  to  his  ca])in  beside  the  emhar- 
cadcro  reported  that  it  was,  as  had  been 
long  suspected,  barely  habitable,  and  con- 
tained neither  books,  papers,  nor  records 
which  would  indi('ate  his  family  or  friends. 
It  was  a  God-forsaken,  dreary,  worthless 
place  ;  lie  wondered  how  a  white  man  could 

ever    expect    to    make    a    living    there.     If 
D— Ih-cl  Ilarte  v.  22 


98         A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAJiA. 

Elijali  never  turned  up  again  it  certainly 
would  be  a  long  time  before  any  squatter 
would  think  of  taking  possession  of  it.  John 
Milton  knew  instinctively,  without  looking 
up,  that  his  father's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him, 
and  he  felt  himself  constrained  to  appear  to 
be  abstracted  in  gazing  down  the  darkening 
road.  Then  he  heai-d  his  father  say,  with 
what  he  felt  was  an  equal  assumption  of  care- 
lessness :  "•  Yes,  I  reckon  I  've  got  somewhere 
a  bill  of  sale  of  that  land  that  I  had  to  take 
from  "Lige  for  an  old  bill,  but  I  kalkilate 
that  's  all  I  11  ever  see  of  it." 

Rain  fell  again  as  the  darkness  gathered, 
but  he  still  loitered  on  the  road  and  tlie 
sloping  path  of  the  garden,  filled  with  a  h;df 
resentful  sense  of  wrong,  and  hugging  with 
gloomy  pride  an  increasing  sense  of  loneli- 
ness and  of  getting  dangerously  wet.  The 
swollen  creek  still  whispered,  murmured  and 
swirled  beside  the  bank.  At  another  time 
he  might  liave  had  wild  ideas  of  emulating 
the  surveyors  on  some  extempore  raft  and  so 
escajiing  his  })resent  dreary  home  existence  ; 
but  since  the  disap])earance  of  'Lige,  who  had 
always  excited  an  odd  boyish  antipatliy  in 
his  lieart,  although  ho  had  never  seen  liini, 
he  shunned  the  stream  contaminated  with  the 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.  99 

missing-  man's  unheroic  fate.  Presently  the 
light  from  the  open  window  of  the  sitting- 
room  glittered  on  the  wet  leaves  and  sprays 
where  he  stood,  and  the  voices  of  the  family 
conclave  came  fitfully  to  his  ear.  They 
did  n't  want  him  there.  They  had  nove^ 
thought  of  ask-ing  him  to  come  in.  Well !  — 
who  cared  ?  And  he  was  n't  going  to  be 
bought  off  with  a  candle  and  a  seat  by  the 
kitchen  fire.     No  ! 

Nevertheless  he  was  getting  wet  to  no 
purpose.  There  was  the  tool-house  and 
carpenter's  shed  near  the  bank  ;  its  floor  was 
thickly  covered  with  sawdust  and  pine-wood 
shavings,  and  tlierti  was  a  mouldy  buffalo 
skin  which  he  had  once  transported  thither 
from  the  old  wagon-bed.  There,  too,  was 
his  secret  cache  of  a  candle  in  a  bottle, 
buried  with  other  piratical  treasures  in  the 
presence  of  tlio  youthful  looters,  wlio  con- 
sented to  bo  sacrificed  on  the  spot  in  bucca- 
neering fashion  to  complete  the  unhallowed 
rites.  He  unearthed  the  candle,  lit  it,  and 
clearing  away  a  part  of  the  shavings  stood  it 
u[)  on  tlie  floor.  lie  tlion  brought  a  prized, 
battered.  aTid  coverlcss  volume  fromahiddi'u 
recess  in  tlie  rafters,  and  lying  down  with  tlio 
buffalo   robe   over   Iiim.   and  his  cap  ia  h.is 


100       A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

hand  ready  to  extinguish  the  light  at  the 
first  footstep  of  a  trespasser,  gave  himself 
up  —  as  he  had  given  himself  up,  I  fear, 
many  other  times  —  to  the  enchantment  of 
the  page  before  him. 

The  current  whispered,  murmured,  and 
sang,  unheeded  at  his  side.  The  voices  of 
his  mother  and  sisters,  raised  at  times  in 
eagerness  or  expectation  of  the  future,  fell 
upon  his  unlistening  ears.  For  with  the 
spell  that  had  come  upon  him,  the  mean 
walls  of  his  hiding-jjlace  melted  away ;  the 
vulvar  stream  beside  him  mig;lit  have  been 
that  dim,  subterraneous  river  down  which 
Sindbad  and  his  bale  of  riches  were  swept 
out  of  the  Cave  of  Death  to  the  sunlight  of 
life  and  fortune,  so  surely  and  so  sim2)ly  had 
it  transported  liim  beyond  the  cramped  and 
darkened  limits  of  his  present  life.  He 
was  in  the  better  world  of  boyish  romance, 
—  of  gallant  deeds  and  high  emprises ;  of 
miraculous  atonement  and  devoted  sacrifice  ; 
of  l^rave  men,  and  tliose  rarer,  impossible 
women,  —  the  immaculate  (;onccption  of  a 
boy's  virgin  heart.  Wliat  mattered  it  that 
l)e])ind  that  glittering  window  his  mother 
and  sisters  grew  feverish  and  excited  over 
the  vulgar  details  of  their  real  but  baser  for- 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T AS  AJAR  A.      101 

tune  ?  From  the  dark  tool  -  shed  by  the 
muddy  current,  John  Milton,  with  a  bat- 
tered dogs'-eared  chronicle,  soared  on  the 
wings  of  fancy  far  beyond  their  wildest 
ken  I 


CHAPTER  V. 

PROSrERiTY  had  settled  upon  the  plains 
of  Tasajara.  Not  only  had  the  emburcadero 
emerged  from  the  tides  of  Tasajara  Creek 
as  a  thriving  town  of  steamboat  wharves, 
warehouses,  and  outlying  mills  and  facto- 
ries, but  in  five  years  the  transforming  rail- 
road had  penetrated  the  great  jilain  itself 
and  revealed  its  luideveloped  fertility.  Tlie 
low-lying  lands  that  had  been  yearly  over- 
flowed by  the  creek,  now  drained  and  culti- 
vated, yielded  treasures  of  wheat  and  barley 
that  were  apparently  inexhaustible.  Even 
tlie  hel})les3  indolence  of  Sidon  had  been 
surprised  into  activity  and  change.  There 
w;is  notliing  left  of  the  straggling  settlement 
to  recall  its  former  aspect.  The  site  of 
Ihirkutt's  old  store  and  dwelling  was  lost 
and  forgotten  in  the  new  mill  and  granary 
that  rose  along  tlie  banks  of  tJie  creek.  De- 
cay k'a\c's  I'liiii  and  traces  for  the  meijiory  to 
linger  ovei'  :  pi'osperity  is  unrelenting  in  it,s 
complete  and  smiling  obliteration  of  the  i>ast. 


A    riliST   FAMILY    OF    TASAJAUA.       103 

But  Tasajara  Clt}'',  as  the  nnlxircadero 
was  now  called,  had  no  previous  record,  and 
even  the  former  existence  of  an  actual  set- 
tler like  tlie  forgotten  Elijah  Curtis  was  un- 
known to  the  present  inhabitants.  It  was 
Daniel  Ilarkutt's  idea  carried  out  in  Daniel 
Harkutt's  laiid,  with  Daniel  Harkutt's  capi- 
tal and  energy.  But  Daniel  Ilarkutt  had 
become  Daniel  Harcourt,  and  Harcourt  Ave- 
nue, Ilarcourt  Square,  and  Harcourt  House, 
ostentatiously  proclaimed  the  new  spelling 
of  his  patronymic.  When  the  change  v/as 
made  and  for  what  reason,  who  suggested  it 
and  under  what  authority,  were  not  easy  to 
determine,  as  the  sign  on  his  former  store 
had  borne  nothing  but  the  legend.  Goods 
and  I-')'ovLsio)is,  and  his  name  did  not  ap- 
pear on  written  record  until  after  the  occupa- 
tion of  Tasajara  ;  but  it  is  presumed  that  it 
was  at  the  instigation  of  his  daughters,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  oppose  it.  Ilarcourt 
was  a  pretty  name  for  a  street,  a  square,  or 
a  hotel ;  even  the  few  in  Sidon  who  had 
called  it  Ilarkutt  admitted  that  it  was  an 
improvement  quite  consistent  with  the 
change  from  the  fever-haunted  tid('.<<  and 
sedges  of  the  creek  to  tlio  broad,  level,  and 
handsome  squares  of  Tasajara  City. 


104      A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJAEA. 

Tills  might  have  been  the  opinion  o£  a  vis- 
itor at  the  Ilarcourt  House,  who  arrived  one 
summer  afternoon  from  the  Stockton  boat, 
but  whose  shrewd,  half-critical,  half-profes- 
sional eyes  and  quiet  questionings  betrayed 
some  previous  knowledge  of  the  locality. 
Seated  on  the  broad  veranda  of  the  Harcourt 
House,  and  gazing  out  on  the  well-kept 
green  and  young  eucalyptus  trees  of  the 
Ilarcourt  Square  or  Plaza,  he  had  elicited 
a  counter  question  from  a  prosperous-look- 
ing citizen  who  had  been  lounging  at  his  side. 

"  I  reckon  you  look  ez  if  you  might  have 
been  here  before,  stranger." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger  quietly,  "  I  have 
been.  But  it  was  when  the  tvles  grew  in 
the  square  opposite,  and  the  tide  of  the 
creek  washed  them." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Tasajaran,  looking  curi- 
ously at  the  stranger,  "  I  call  myself  a  pio- 
neer of  Tasajara.  My  name  's  Peters,  —  of 
Peters  and  Co.,  —  and  those  warehouses 
along  the  wharf,  where  you  landed  just  now, 
are  mine  ;  but  I  was  the  first  settler  on  Har- 
court's  land,  and  built  the  next  cabin  after 
him.  I  helped  to  clear  out  tliem  Uiles  and 
dredged  the  channels  yonder.  I  took  the 
contract  with  Ilarcourt  to  build  the  last  fif- 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJAKA.       105 

teen  miles  o'  railroad,  and  put  up  that  depot 
for  the  company.  Perhaps  you  were  here 
before  that  ?  " 

"  I  was,"  returned  the  stranger  quietly. 

"  I  say,"  said  Peters,  hitching  his  chair  a 
little  nearer  to  liis  companion,  "  you  never 
knew  a  kind  of  broken-down  feller,  called 
Curtis  —  'Lige  Curtis  —  who  once  squatted 
here  and  sold  his  right  to  Ilarkutt?  He 
disappeared ;  it  was  allowed  he  killed  his- 
self,  but  they  never  found  his  body,  and,  be- 
tween you  and  me,  I  never  took  stock  in 
that  story.  You  know  Ilarcourt  holds  under 
him,  and  all  Tasajara  rests  on  that  title," 

"  I  've  heard  so,"  assented  the  stranger 
carelessly,  "  but  I  never  knew  the  original 
settler.     Then  Ilarcourt  has  been  lucky  ?  " 

'*  You  bet.  lie  's  got  three  millions  right 
about  here,  or  within  this  quarter  section,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  outside  speculations." 

'■  And  lives  here?  " 

"  Not  for  two  years.  That  "s  his  old  house 
across  the  plaza,  but  his  women-folks  live 
mostly  in  "Frisco  and  Xew  York,  where  he  's 
got  hcKises  too.  They  say  they  sorter  got 
sick  of  Tasajara  after  his  youngest  daughter 
ran  off  with  a  feller." 

''  Hallo  I  "    said  the  stranger  with  undis- 


lOG      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T  AS  AJAR  A. 

guised  interest.  "  I  never  heard  of  that ! 
You  don't  mean  that  she  eloped  "  —  he  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  square  enough  marriage. 
I  reckon  too  square  to  suit  some  folks ;  but 
the  fellow  had  n't  uothiu',  and  was  n't  worth 
shucks,  —  a  sort  of  land  surveyor,  doin'  odd 
jobs,  you  know  ;  and  the  old  man  and  old 
woman  were  agin  it,  and  the  tother  daughter 
worse  of  all.  It  was  allowed  here  —  you 
know  how  women-folks  talk  !  —  that  the  sur- 
veyor had  been  sweet  on  Clementina,  but 
had  got  tired  of  being  played  by  her,  and 
took  uj)  with  Phemie  out  o'  spite.  Any- 
how they  got  married,  and  liarcourt  gave 
them  to  understand  they  couldn't  expect 
anything  from  him.  P'raps  that 's  why  it 
did  n't  last  long,  for  only  about  two  months 
ago  she  got  a  divorce  from  Kice  and  came 
back  to  her  family  again." 

"Kice?  '  queried  the  stranger.  "Was 
that  her  husbands  name,  Stephen  llice?" 

"  I  reckon  I   You  knew  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  when  the  tide  came  up  to  the 
tules,  yonder,"'  answered  the  stranger  mus- 
ingly. "  And  the  other  daughter,  —  I  sup- 
pose she  has  made  a  good  match,  being  a 
beauty  and  the  sole  heiress  ?  " 


/(    F/KST  FAMILY   OF   TASA.IA/iA.       107 

Tlic  Tusujaran  made  a  <,a-iiuace.  ''  Not 
ruuoli !  1  reckon  slie  's  waitin'  f'.>i'  the  Aiig"l 
GaLriel,  — -  there  ain't  another  good  enough 
to  suit  her  here.  They  ^:iy  she  "s  had  most 
of  the  l)ig  men  in  California  waitin'  in  a 
lino  with  their  offurs,  like  that  cue  the  fel- 
lows used  to  make  at  the  'Frisco  ])ost-oliice 
steamer  days  —  and  she  with  nary  a  letter 
or  answer  for  any  of  tlicm." 

''  Then  llarcourt  does  n't  seem  to  have 
been  as  fortunate  in  his  family  affairs  as  in 
his  speculations?  " 

Peters  uttered  a  grim  laugh.  "  AYell,  I 
reckon  you  know  all  about  his  son's  stam- 
peding with  that  girl  last  spring?"' 

"'  His  son  ?  "'  interrupted  the  stranger. 
"  Do  you  mean  the  boy  they  called  John 
iSIilton  ?     Why,  he  w:i,-;  a  mere  child  I  " 

*' He  was  old  cnttiigli  to  run  away  with  a 
young  woman  that  helju'd  in  his  mother's 
house,  and  marry  her  afore  a  justice  of  the 
})cace.  The  old  man  just  snorted  with  rage, 
and  swore  he  \\  have  tlie  marriage  put  aside, 
for  the  l)oy  was  under  a^e.  He  said  it  was 
a  put-up  job  of  the  gli'l's  ;  tluit  she  was  older 
by  two  years,  and  oidy  wanted  to  get  what 
money  might  be  coir.in'  some  day,  but  that 
they  'd  never  see  a  red  cent  of  it.     Then,  they 


108      A  FIRST   FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

say,  John  Milton  up  and  sassed  the  old  man 
to  his  face,  and  allowed  that  he  would  n't 
take  his  dirty  money  if  he  starved  first,  and 
that  if  the  old  man  broke  the  marriage  he  'd 
marry  her  again  next  year ;  that  true  love 
and  honorable  poverty  were  better  nor  riches, 
and  a  lot  more  o'  that  stuff  he  picked  out  o' 
them  ten-cent  novels  he  was  alius  reading. 
My  women-folks  say  that  he  actually  liked 
the  girl,  because  she  was  the  only  one  in  the 
house  that  was  ever  kind  to  him ;  they  say 
the  girls  were  just  ragin'  mad  at  the  idea  o' 
havin'  a  hired  gal  who  had  waited  on  'em  as 
a  sister-in-law,  and  they  even  got  old  jMainmy 
Harcourt's  back  up  by  sayin'  that  John's 
wife  would  want  to  rule  the  house,  and  run 
her  out  of  her  own  kitchen.  Some  say  he 
shook  the77i,  talked  back  to  'em  mighty  sharp, 
and  held  his  head  a  heap  higher  nor  them. 
Anyhow,  he  's  liviu'  with  his  wife  somewhere 
in  'Frisco,  in  a  shanty  on  a  sand  lot,  and 
workin'  odd  jobs  for  the  newspapers.  No  ! 
takin'  it  by  and  large  —  it  don't  look  as  if 
llarcourt  had  run  his  family  to  the  same 
advantage  that  he  has  his  land." 

"  Perhaps  he  does  n't  understand  them  as 
well,"  said  the  stranger  smiling. 

"  Mor  'n  likely  the  material  ain't  thar,  or 


A    FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJAliA.       109 

ain't  as  vallyble  for  a  new  country,"  said 
Peters  grimly.  "  I  reckon  the  trouble  is 
that  he  lets  them  two  daughters  run  him,  and 
the  man  who  lets  any  woman  or  women  do 
that,  lets  himself  in  for  all  their  meannesses, 
and  all  he  gets  in  return  is  a  woman's  result, 
—  show  !  " 

Here  the  stranger,  who  was  slowly  rising 
from  his  chair  with  the  polite  suggestion  of 
reluctantly  tearing  himself  from  the  speaker's 
spell,  said :  '"  And  Ilarcourt  spends  most  of 
his  time  in  San  Francisco,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes  1  but  to-day  he  's  here  to  attend  a 
directors"  meeting  and  the  opening  of  the 
Free  Library  and  Tasajara  Hall.  I  saw  the 
windows  open,  and  the  blinds  up  in  his 
house  across  the  plaza  as  I  passed  just 
now." 

The  stranger  had  by  this  time  quite  effected 
his  courteous  withdrawal.  "  Good  -  after- 
noon, Mr.  Peters,"'  he  said,  smilingly  lifting 
his  hat,  and  turned  away. 

Peters,  who  was  obliged  to  take  his  legs 
off  the  chair,  and  half  rise  to  the  stranger's 
politeness,  here  reflected  that  he  did  not  know 
his  interlocutor's  name  and  business,  and  that 
he  had  really  got  nothing  in  return  for  his 
information.     This  must  be  remedied.     As 


110       .4   FIRST   FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA. 

the  stranger  passed  through  the  hall  into  the 
street,  followed  by  the  unwonted  civilities  of 
the  spruce  hotel  clerk  and  the  obsequious  at- 
tentions of  the  negro  porter,  Peters  stepjicd 
to  the  window  of  the  office.  "  Who  was 
that  man  who  just  passed  out?"  he  asked. 

The  clerk  stared  in  undisguised  astonish- 
ment. "  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  did  n't 
know  who  he  was  —  all  the  while  you  were 
talking  to  him?" 

"  No,"  returned  Peters,  impatiently. 

"  Why,  that  was  Professor  Lawrence 
Grant !  —  the  Lawrence  Grant  —  don't  you 
know  ?  —  the  biggest  scientific  man  and  roe- 
ognized  expert  on  the  Pacific  slope.  Why, 
that  's  the  man  whose  single  word  is  ciiough 
to  make  or  break  the  biggest  mine  or  claim 
going  !  That  man  !  —  why,  tliat  's  the  man 
whose  opinion  's  worth  thousands,  for  it 
carries  millions  with  it  —  and  can't  be 
bought.  That  's  him  who  knocked  the  bot- 
tom outer  El  Dorado  last  year,  and  next  day 
sent  Eureka  up  booming !  Ye  remember 
that,  sure?  " 

"  Of  course  —  but "'  —  stammered  Peters. 

"And  to  tliiuk  you  did  n't  know  liini  1  "" 
repeated  the  hotel  elerk  wonderingly.  "  And 
here    /  was    reckoning   you    wore    getting 


A   FIliST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAJLl.       HI 

jioiuts  from  liim  all  the  time  !  AVhy,  some 
men  would  have  given  a  thousaud  dollars  for 
your  chance  of  talking  to  him — yes  !  ^ — of 
even  being  seeji  talking  to  him.  A\  hy,  old 
Wingate  once  got  a  tip  on  his  Prairie  Flower 
lead  worth  five  thousand  dollars  while  just 
changing  seats  with  him  in  the  cars  and  pass- 
ing the  time  of  day,  sociable  like.  AVhy, 
what  (/id  you  talk  about  ?  '' 

Peters,  with  a  miserable  conviction  that  he 
had  thrown  away  a  valuable  opportunity  in 
more  idle  gossip,  nevertheless  endeavored  to 
look  mysterious  as  he  replied,  "  Oh,  business 
gin 'rally."  Then  in  the  faint  hope  of  yet 
retrieving  his  blunder  he  inquired,  "  How 
long  will  he  be  here  ?  " 

"■  Don't  know.  I  reckon  he  and  Ilar- 
court  's  got  something  on  hand.  He  just 
asked  if  he  was  likely  to  be  at  home  or  at  his 
office.  1  told  him  I  reckoned  at  the  house, 
for  some  of  the  family  —  1  did  n't  get  to  see 
who  they  were  —  drove  up  in  a  carriage 
from  the  3.40  train  while  you  were  sitting 
there."' 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  this  discussion, 
quite  unconscious  of  the  sensation  he  had 
ci-eatfd.  or  perlia[)s  like  most  heroes  philo- 
sophically careless  of  it,  was  s:mntering  in- 


112       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

differently  towards  Harcourt's  house.  Bu; 
he  had  no  business  with  his  former  host,  — 
his  only  object  was  to  pass  an  idle  hour  be- 
fore his  train  left.  He  was,  of  course,  net 
unaware  that  he  himself  was  largely  re- 
sponsible for  Harcourt's  success  ;  that  it  was 
his  hint  which  had  induced  the  petty  trader 
of  Sidon  to  venture  his  all  in  Tasajara;  his 
knowledge  of  the  topography  and  geology  of 
the  plain  that  had  stimulated  Harcourt's 
agricultural  speculations  ;  his  hydrographic 
survey  of  the  creek  that  had  made  Harcourt's 
plan  of  widening  the  channel  to  commerce 
practicable  and  profitable.  This  he  could 
not  help  but  know.  But  that  it  was  chiefly 
owing  to  his  own  clear,  cool,  far-seeing,  but 
never  visionary,  scientific  observation,  —  his 
own  accurate  analysis,  unprejudiced  by  even 
a  savant's  enthusiasm,  and  uninfluenced  by 
any  personal  desire  or  greed  of  gain,  —  that 
Tasajara  City  had  risen  from  the  stagnant 
tules^  was  a  speculation  that  had  never 
occurred  to  him.  There  was  a  much  more 
uneasy  consciousness  of  what  he  had  done  in 
Mr.  Harcourt's  face  a  few  moments  latei', 
when  his  visitor's  name  was  announced,  and 
it  is  to  be  feared  that  if  that  name  had  been 
less   widely   honored  and  respected  than  it 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA.      113 

was,  no  merely  grateful  recollection  of  it 
would  have  procured  Grant  an  audience. 
As  it  was,  it  was  with  a  frown  and  a  touch  of 
his  old  impatient  asperity  that  he  stepped  to 
the  threshold  of  an  adjoining  room  and 
called,  "  Clemmy  !  " 

Clementina  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  There  's  that  man  Grant  in  the  parlor. 
What  brings  him  here,  I  wonder  ?  Who 
does  he  come  to  see  ?  " 

"Who  did  he  ask  for?" 

"  Me,  —  but  that  don't  mean  anything." 

"  Perhaps  he  wants  to  see  you  on  some 
business." 

"  Xo.  That  is  n't  his  high-toned  style. 
lie  makes  other  people  go  to  him  for  that," 
he  said  bitterly.  "  Anyhow  —  don't  you 
think  it 's  mighty  queer  his  coming  here  after 
his  friend  —  for  it  was  he  who  introduced 
Kico  to  us  —  had  behaved  so  to  your  sister, 
and  caused  all  this  divorce  and  scandal  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  may  know  nothing  about  it ; 
he  and  Rice  separated  long  ago,  even  before 
Grant  became  so  famous.  We  never  saw 
much  of  liim,  you  know,  after  we  came  here. 
Su]ipose  you  leave  him  to  tnc.    I  '11  see  him." 

Mr.  Harcouit  reflected.  "  Did  u"t  he 
used  to  be  rather  attentive  to  Phemie  ?  " 


114      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TAHAJAMA. 

Clementina  shrugged  her  slioulders  care- 
lessly. "  I  dare  say  —  but  I  don't  think 
that  now  "  — 

"  Who  said  anything  about  now  ?  "  re- 
torted her  father,  with  a  return  of  his  old 
abruptness.  After  a  pause  he  said  :  "  I  '11 
go  down  and  see  him  first,  and  then  send 
for  you.  You  can  keep  him  for  the  opening 
and  dinner,  if  you  like." 

Meantime  Lawrence  Grant,  serenely  un- 
suspicious of  these  domestic  couMdences, 
had  been  shown  into  the  parlor  —  a  large 
room  furnished  in  the  same  style  as  the 
drawing-room  of  the  hottl  he  had  just 
quitted.  lie  had  ample  time  to  note  that 
it  was  that  wonderful  Second  Empire  furni- 
ture which  he  remembered  that  the  early 
San  Francisco  pioneers  in  the  first  flush  of 
their  wealth  had  imported  directly  from 
France,  and  which  for  years  after  gave  an 
unexpected  foreign  flavor  to  the  western 
domesticity  and  a  tawdry  gilt  equality  to 
saloons  and  drawing-rooms,  public  and  ])ri- 
vate.  But  he  was  observant  of  a  correspond- 
ing change  in  llarcourt,  when  a  moment 
Liter  ho  entered  the  room.  That  individ- 
lUcll^y  which  ixad  kept  the  former  shop- 
keeper of  Sidon  distinct  from,  although  per- 


A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TAi^AJMiA.       115 

haps  not  superior  to,  his  customers  —  was 
strongly  marked.  He  was  perlinps  now 
m(n'C  nervously  alert  tlian  then  ;  he  was  cer- 
tainly more  impatient  than  before,  —  but 
that  was  pardonable  in  a  man  of  largo  af- 
fairs and  action.  Grant  could  not  deny 
that  he  seemed  improved, — rather  perhaps 
that  the  setting  of  fine  clothes,  cleanliness, 
and  the  absence  of  petty  worries,  made  his 
characteristics  respectable.  That  which  is 
ill  breeding  in  homespun,  is  apt  to  become 
mere  eccentricity  in  purple  and  fine  linen  , 
Grant  felt  tluit  Ilarcoart  jarred  on  him  less 
than  he  did  before,  and  was  grateful  without 
superciliousness.  Harcourt,  rolieved  to  find 
that  Grant  was  neither  critic.d  nor  aggres- 
sively reminiscent,  and  above  all  not  in- 
clined to  claim  t'lo  credit  of  creating  him 
and  Tasajara,  l)C('amo  more  confident,  more 
at  his  case,  and,  I  fear,  in  proportion  more 
unpleasant.  It  is  the  repose  and  not  the 
struggle  of  the  parvenu  that  confounds  us. 

"  And  ijou^  Grant,  —  you  have  niade  your- 
self famous,  and,  T  hear,  liave  got  pretty 
much  your  own  prices  for  your  opinions 
ever  since  it  was  known  that  you  —  you  — 
or  —  were  connected  with  the  growth  of 
Tasajara." 


116      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA. 

Grant  smiled  ;  he  was  not  quite  prepared 
for  this ;  but  it  was  amusing  and  would  pass 
the  time.  He  murmured  a  sentence  of  half 
ironical  deprecation,  and  Mr.  Harcourt  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  I  have  n't  got  my  San  Francisco  house 
here  to  receive  you  in,  but  I  hope  some  day, 
sir,  to  see  you  there.  We  are  only  here  for 
the  day  and  night,  but  if  you  care  to  attend 
the  opening  ceremonies  at  the  new  hall,  we 
can  manage  to  give  you  dinner  afterwards. 
You  can  escort  my  daughter  Clementina,  — 
she  's  here  with  me." 

The  smile  of  apologetic  declination  which 
had  begun  to  form  on  Grant's  lips  was  sud- 
denly arrested.  "  Then  your  daughter  is 
here  ?  "  he  asked,  with  unaffected  interest. 

"  Yes,  —  she  is  in  fact  a  patroness  of  the 
library  and  sewing-circle,  and  takes  the 
greatest  interest  in  it.  The  Reverend  Doc- 
tor Pilsbury  relics  upon  her  for  everything. 
She  runs  the  society,  even  to  the  training  of 
the  young  ladies,  sir.  You  shall  see  their 
exercises." 

This  was  certainly  a  new  phase  of  Clem- 
entina's cliaracter,  Yet  why  should  she  not 
assume  the  rnlo  of  Lady  Bountiful  with  the 
other  functions  of  her  new  condition.      "  I 


A    FIRST   FAMILY    OF   TASA.JAKA.       117 

slioulil  liave  thought  Miss  Ilarcourt  would 
have  found  this  rather  difficult  with  lier 
other  social  duties,"  he  said,  "and  would 
have  left  it  to  her  married  sister."  He 
thought  it  better  not  to  appear  as  if  avoid- 
ing leference  to  Eupheniia,  although  quietly 
ignoring  her  late  experiences.  Mr.  Ilar- 
court was  less  easy  in  his  response. 

"  Now  that  Euphemia  is  again  w^ith  her 
own  family,"  he  said  ponderously,  with  an 
affectation  of  social  discrimination  that  was 
in  weak  contrast  to  his  usual  direct  business 
astuteness,  "■  I  suppose  she  may  take  her 
part  in  these  things,  but  just  now  she  re- 
quires rest.  You  may  have  heard  some 
rumor  that  she  is  going  abroad  for  a  time  ? 
The  fact  is  she  has  n't  the  least  intention  of 
doing  so,  nor  do  we  consider  there  is  the 
slightest  reason  for  her  going."  lie  paused 
as  if  to  give  great  emphasis  to  a  statement 
that  seemed  otherwise  unimportant.  "  But 
here  's  Clementina  coming,  and  I  must  get 
you  to  excuse  mc.  I  've  to  meet  the  trus- 
tees of  the  church  in  ten  minutes,  but  I 
hope  she  "11  persuade  you  to  stay,  and  I  "11 
see  y<ni  later  at  the  hall." 

As    Clementina    entered    the    room    her 
father  vanished  and,  I  fear,  as  completely 


118      A   FIKST  FA.]f/Ly   OF   TAiiAJARA. 

dropped  out  of  Mr.  Grant's  mind.  For  the 
daughter's  improvement  was  greater  than 
her  father's,  yet  so  mucli  more  refined  as 
to  be  at  first  only  delicately  perceptible. 
Grant  had  been  prepared  for  the  vulgar 
enhancement  of  fine  clothes  and  personal 
adornment,  for  the  specious  setting  of  luxu- 
rious circumstances  and  surroundings,  for 
the  aplomh  tliat  came  from  flattery  and  con- 
scious power.  But  he  found  none  of  these  ; 
her  calm  individuality  was  intensified  rather 
than  subdued ;  she  was  dressed  simply,  with 
an  economy  of  ornament,  rich  material,  and 
jewelry,  but  an  accuracy  of  taste  that  was 
always  dominant.  Her  plain  gray  merino 
dress,  beautifully  fitting  her  figure,  sug- 
gested, with  its  pale  blue  facings,  some  uni- 
form, as  of  the  charitaljle  society  she  patron- 
ized. She  came  towards  him  with  a  graceful 
movement  of  greeting,  yet  her  face  showed 
no  conscioiisness  of  the  interval  th.it  had 
elapsed  since  they  met ;  he  almost  fanuie<l 
himself  transported  back  to  the  sitting-room 
at  Sidon  with  the  monotonous  patter  of  the 
leaves  outside,  and  the  cool  moist  breath  of 
the  l)ay  and  alder  coming  in  at  the  window. 
"  Father  says  that  you  are  only  passing 
through  Tasajara  to-<lay,  as  you  did  through 


.1    FiK.ST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       119 

Sidoii  fivo  years  ago,"  she  said  with  a  smil- 
ing earnestness  that  he  fancied  however  was 
the  one  new  phase  of  her  character.  ''  But 
I  won't  believe  it !  At  least  we  will  not  ac- 
cept another  visit  quite  as  accidental  as  that, 
even  though  you  brought  us  twice  the  good 
fortune  you  did  then.  You  see,  we  have 
not  forgotten  it  if  you  have,  Mr.  Grant. 
And  unless  you  w  ant  us  to  believe  that  your 
fairy  gifts  will  turn  some  day  to  leaves  and 
ashes,  you  will  promise  to  stay  with  us  to- 
night, and  let  me  show  you  some  of  the  good 
we  have  done  with  them.  Perhaps  you 
don  t  know,  or  don't  want  to  know,  that  it 
was  1  who  got  up  tliis  '  Library  and  Home 
Cirele  of  the  Sisters  of  Tasajara '  which  we 
are  to  open  to-day.  And  can  you  imagine 
why  ?  You  remember  —  or  have  you  forgot- 
ten—  that  you  once  affected  to  be  concerned 
at  the  social  condition  of  the  young  ladies 
on  the  j)lains  of  Sidcju?  Well,  Mr.  Grant, 
tliis  is  gotten  up  in  order  th;it  the  future  IMr. 
(rrants  who  wander  may  lind  future  Miss 
P>illingses  who  are  worthy  to  converse  with 
them  and  entertain  tlieni.  and  wlio  no  longer 
wear  men's  hats  and  live  on  tlie  })ublic  road." 
it  was  sucli  a  long  sjjcocii  for  one  so  taci- 
turn as  he  remem])crt;d  deiiir>ntina  to  have 


120      A  FIBST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

been ;  so  unexpeeted  in  tone  considering  her 
father's  attitude  towards  him,  and  so  un- 
looked  for  in  its  reference  to  a  slight  inci- 
dent of  the  past,  that  Grant's  critical  con- 
templation of  her  gave  way  to  a  quiet  and 
grateful  glance  of  admiration.  How  could 
he  have  been  so  mistaken  in  her  character  ? 
He  had  always  preferred  the  outspoken 
Euphemia,  and  yet  why  should  he  not  have 
been  equally  mistaken  in  her  ?  Without 
having  any  personal  knowledge  of  Kice's 
matrimonial  troubles  —  for  their  intimate 
comj)anionship  had  not  continued  after  the 
survey  —  he  had  been  inclined  to  blame 
him ;  now  he  seemed  to  find  excuses  for 
]iim.  He  wondered  if  she  really  had  liked 
him  as  Peters  had  hinted  ;  he  wondered  if 
she  knew  that  he,  Grant,  was  no  longer  in- 
timate with  him  and  knew  nothing  of  her 
affairs.  All  this  while  he  was  acce})ting  her 
proffered  hospitality  and  sending  to  the  ho- 
tel for  his  luggage.  Tlien  he  drifted  into  a 
conversation,  which  he  had  expected  would 
be  bi'ief,  pointless,  and  confined  to  a  stupid 
resxime  of  their  mutual  and  social  progress 
since  tlu^y  had  left  Sidon.  I^ut  liere  he  was 
again  mistaken  ;  she  was  talking  familiarly 
of  present  social  topics,  of  things  that  she 


A  FIRST  FAMILY'    OF   TASAJARA.       121 

knew  clearly  and  well,  without  effort  or  atti- 
tude. She  had  been  to  New  York  and  Bos- 
ton for  two  winters  ;  she  had  spent  the  pre- 
vious summer  at  Newport ;  it  might  have 
been  her  whole  youth  for  the  fluency,  accu- 
racy, and  familiarity  of  her  detail,  and  the 
absence  of  provincial  enthusiasm.  She  was 
going  abroad,  probably  in  the  spring.  She 
had  thought  of  going  to  winter  In  Italy,  but 
she  would  wait  now  until  her  sister  was  ready 
to  go  with  her.  Mr.  Grant  of  course  knew 
that  Euphemia  was  separated  from  Mr.  Rice 
—  no  !  —  not  until  her  father  told  him  ? 
Well  —  the  marriage  had  been  a  wild  and 
foolish  thing  for  both.  But  Euphemia  was 
back  again  with  them  in  the  San  Francisco 
house ;  she  had  talked  of  coming  to  Tasa- 
jara  to-day,  perhaps  she  might  be  there  to- 
night. An.l,  good  heavens  !  It  was  actually 
three  o'clock  already,  and  they  must  start  at 
once  for  the  Hall.  She  would  go  and  get 
her  hat  and  return  instantly. 

It  was  true  ;  ho  had  been  talking  with  her 
an  hour  —  pleasantly,  intelligently,  and  yet 
with  a  consciousness  of  an  Indefinite  satis- 
faction beyond  all  this.  It  must  have  been 
sui'])rise  at  her  transformation,  or  his  pre- 
vious misconception  of  her  character.     lie 


122      A    F/JiST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

had  been  watching  her  features  and  won- 
dering why  he  had  ever  thought  them  ex- 
pressionless. There  was  also  the  pleasant 
suggestion  —  connuon  to  humanity  in  such 
instances  —  that  he  himself  was  in  some  way 
responsible  for  the  change  ;  that  it  was  some 
awakened  sympathy  to  his  own  nature  that 
liad  breathed  into  this  cold  and  faultless 
statue  the  warmth  of  life.  In  an  odd  flash 
of  recollection  he  remembered  how,  five  years 
ago,  when  Kice  had  suggested  to  her  that  she 
was  "  hard  to  please,"  she  had  replied  that 
she  "  did  n't  know,  but  that  she  was  waiting 
to  see."  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  wonder 
wliy  she  had  not  awakened  then,  or  if  this 
a'.vakening  had  anything  to  do  with  her  own 
volition.  It  was  not  probable  that  they 
would  meet  again  after  to-day,  or  if  they  did, 
that  slie  would  not  relapse  into  her  former 
self  and  fail  to  impress  him  as  she  had  now. 
But  —  here  she  was  —  a  })aragon  of  feminine 
])romptitude  —  already  standing  in  the  door- 
way, accurately  gloved  and  booted,  and  wear- 
ing a  demure  gray  liat  that  modestly  crowned 
her  decorously  elegant  figure. 

Tlicy  crossed  the  plaza  side  by  side,  in  the 
still  gaiish  sunlight  that  seemed  to  mock 
the  scant  shade  of  the  youthful  eucalyptus 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASA.lARA.      123 

trees,  and  presently  fell  in  with  the  stream 
of  people  going  in  their  direction.  The  for- 
mer daughters  of  Sidon,  the  Billingses,  the 
PetersGS,  and  Wingates,  v/ere  there  bourgeon- 
ing and  expanding  in  the  glare  of  their 
new  prosperity,  with  silk  and  gold ;  there 
were  newer  faces  still,  and  pretty  ones,  —  for 
Tasajara  as  a  *'  Cow  County  "  had  attracted 
settlers  with  large  families,  —  and  there  were 
already  the  contrasting  types  of  East  and 
West.  Many  turned  to  look  after  the  tall 
figure  of  the  duughtcsr  of  the  Founder  of 
Tasajara,  —  a  sr-ectaclc  lately  rare  to  the 
town  ;  a  few  ghmced  at  her  companion, 
equally  noticeable  as  a  stranger.  Thanks, 
however,  to  souk;  judicious  preliminary  ad- 
vertising from  the  hotel  clerk,  Peters,  and 
Danied  llarcoiirt  himself,  by  the  time  Grant 
and  Miss  Harcourt  had  reached  the  Hall 
his  name  and  fame  were  already  known,  and 
speculation  had  already  begun  whether  this 
new  sti'oke  <^f  ilarcourt's  shrewdness  might 
not  unite  Clei;iei;L!na  to  a  renowned  and 
profitable  partner. 

The  IbiU  v,-as  in  one  of  the  further  and 
newly  o]K'Tied  suburbs,  and  its  side  and  rear 
windovvs  gave  immediately  npon  the  outly- 
ing and  illimitable   plain   of   Tasajara.     It 


124       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

was  a  tasteful  and  fair-seeming  structure  of 
wood,  surprisingly  and  surpassingly  new. 
In  fact  that  was  its  one  dominant  feature ; 
nowhere  else  had  youth  and  freshness  ever 
shown  itself  as  unconquerable  and  all-con- 
quering. The  spice  of  virgin  woods  and 
trackless  forests  still  rose  from  its  pine 
floors,  and  breathed  from  its  outer  shell  of 
cedar  that  still  oozed  its  sap,  and  redwood 
that  still  dropped  its  life-blood.  Nowhere 
else  were  the  plastered  walls  and  ceilings  as 
white  and  dazzling  in  their  unstained  purity, 
or  as  redolent  of  the  outlying  quarry  in  tlieir 
clear  cool  breath  of  lime  and  stone.  Even 
the  turpentine  of  fresh  and  spotless  paint 
added  to  this  sense  of  wholesome  germi- 
nation, and  as  the  clear  and  brilliant  Cali- 
fornian  sunshine  swept  through  the  open 
windows  west  and  tuist,  suffusing  the  whole 
palpitating  structure  with  its  searching  and 
resistless  radiance,  the  very  air  seemed  filled 
with  tlie  aroma  of  creation. 

The  fresli  colors  of  tlie  young  Republic, 
the  bright  blazoniy  of  the  newest  State,  the 
(!oat-of-arms  of  the  infant  County  of  Tasa- 
jara — (a  vignette  of  sunset-?'///e,s  cloven  by 
tlie  steam  of  an  advancing  train) — hanging 
from  the  walls,  were  all  a  part  of  this  invin- 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA.      125 

cible  juvenescence.  Even  the  newest  silks, 
ribbons  and  prints  of  the  latest  holiday  fash- 
ions made  their  first  virgin  appearance  in 
the  new  building  as  if  to  consecrate  it,  until 
it  was  stirred  by  the  rustle  of  youth,  as  with 
the  sound  and  movement  of  budding  spring. 
A  strain  from  the  new  organ  —  whose 
heart,  however,  had  prematurely  learned  its 
own  bitterness  —  and  a  thin,  clear,  but  some- 
what shrill  chanting  from  a  choir  of  young 
ladies  were  followed  by  a  prayer  from  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Pilsbury.  Then  there  was  a 
pause  of  expectancy,  and  Grant's  fair  com- 
panion, who  up  to  that  moment  had  been 
quietly  acting  as  guide  and  cicerone  to  her 
father's  guest,  excused  herself  with  a  little 
grimace  of  mock  concern  and  was  led  away 
by  one  of  the  committee.  Grant's  usually 
keen  eyes  were  wandering  somewhat  ab- 
stractedly over  the  agitated  and  rustling 
field  of  ribbons,  flowers  and  feathers  before 
him,  past  the  blazonry  of  banner  on  the 
walls,  and  through  the  open  windows  to  the 
long  sunlit  levels  beyond,  when  he  noticed  a 
stir  upon  the  raised  dais  or  |)latform  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  where  the  notables  of  Ta^ 
.sajara  were  formally  assembled.  The  mass 
of    black    coats  suddenly  parted  and  drew 


126       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

back  against  the  wall  to  allow  the  coming 
forward  of  a  single  graceful  figure.  A  thrill 
of  nervousness  as  unexpected  as  unaccount- 
able passed  over  hiin  as  he  recognized  Clem- 
entina, in  the  midst  of  a  sudden  silence 
she  read  the  report  of  the  committee  from  a 
paper  in  her  hand,  in  a  clear,  untroubled 
voice  —  the  old  voice  o^  Sidon  —  and  for- 
mally declared  the  building  opened.  The 
sunlight,  nearly  level,  streamed  through  the 
western  window  across  the  front  of  tlie  plat- 
form where  she  stood  and  transfigured  her 
slight  but  noble  figure.  The  hush  that  liad 
fallen  upon  the  Hall  was  as  much  the  effect 
of  that  tran(|uil,  ideal  presence  as  of  the 
message  with  which  it  was  charged.  And 
yet  that  ajipai^ition  was  as  inconsistent  with 
the  clear,  searching  light  which  helped  to  set 
it  oif,  as  it  was  with  the  broad  new  blazonry 
of  decoration,  tlie  yet  unsullied  record  of  the 
white  walls,  or  even  the  frank,  animated  and 
pretty  faces  that  looked  upon  it.  Perliaps 
it  was  some  such  instinct  that  caused  the 
a})plauso  whicli  hesitatingly  and  tardily  fol- 
lowed Iter  from  the  })Litform  to  ap])ear 
]iolite  and  half  restrained  rather  than  s})on- 
taneons. 

Nevertheless  Grant  was  honestly  and  sin- 


A    FIKST   FAMILY    OF    TASA./ARA.       127 

cercly  jirofusti  in  liis  congratulations.  •'  You 
were  far  cooler  and  far  more  self-contained 
than  /should  have  been  in  your  place,"  ho 
said,  ''than  in  fact  I  actually  ?t'a6',  only  as 
your  auditor.  But  I  suppose  you  have  done 
it  l)efore?  " 

She  turned  her  beautiful  eyes  on  his 
wonderingly.  "  No,  —  this  is  the  first  timo 
I  ever  appeared  in  public, —not  even  at 
school,  for  even  there  I  was  always  a  pri- 
vate pupil."' 

"•  You  astonish  mo,"  said  Grant ;  "  you 
seemed  like  an  old  hand  at  it." 

'•  Perhaps  I  did,  or  rather  as  if  I  did  n't 
think  anything  of  it  myself,  —  and  that  no 
doid^t  is  why  the  audience  did  n't  thiulv  any- 
thing of  it  either." 

So  she  //(/(I  noticed  her  cold  reception, 
and  yet  there  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of 
disappointment,  regret,  or  wounded  vanity 
in  her  tone  or  manner.  "'  You  must  take 
me  to  I  lie  refresumf.'ut  room  now,"  she  said 
})leasai;tly,  "  and  help  me  to  look  after  the 
yoimg  ladif^s  who  are  my  guests.  1  "m 
afraid  there  are  still  more  speeelies  to  come, 
and  father  and  ^Iv.  PilsL-ary  are  looking  as 
if  tl;oy  contidently  cxpoetcd  something  mure 
would  be  'expected"  of  them." 


128      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAEA. 

Grant  at  once  threw  himself  into  the  task 
assigned  to  liini,  with  his  natural  gallantry 
and  a  certain  captivating  playfulness  which 
he  still  retained.  Perliaps  he  was  the  more 
anxious  to  j)lease  in  order  that  his  compan- 
ion might  share  some  of  his  popularity,  for 
it  was  undeniable  that  Miss  Ilarcourt  still 
seemed  to  excite  only  a  constrained  polite- 
ness among  those  with  whom  she  courteously 
mingled.  And  this  was  still  more  distinctly 
marked  by  the  contrast  of  a  later  incident. 

For  some  moments  the  sound  of  laughter 
and  greeting  had  risen  near  the  door  of  the 
refreshment  room  that  oi^ened  upon  the  cen- 
tral hall,  and  there  was  a  perceptible  move- 
ment of  the  crow^l  —  particularly  of  youthful 
male  Tasajara  —  in  that  direction.  It  was 
evident  tliat  it  announced  the  unexpected 
arrival  of  some  popular  resident.  Attracted 
like  the  others,  Grant  turned  and  saw  the 
company  making  way  for  the  smiling,  easy, 
half-saucy,  half-complacent  entry  of  a  hand- 
somely dressed  young  girl.  As  she  turned 
from  time  to  time  to  recognize  with  rallying 
familiarity  or  charming  impertinence  some 
of  her  admirers,  there  was  that  in  her  tone 
and  gesture  which  instantly  recalled  to  him 
the  past.     It  was  unmistakably  Euphemial 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA.      129 

Ilis  eyes  instinctively  sought  Clementina's. 
She  was  gazing  at  him  with  such  a  grave, 
penetrating  look,  —  half  doubting,  half  wist- 
ful, —  a  look  so  unlike  her  usual  unruffled 
calm  that  he  felt  strangely  stirred.  But  the 
next  moment,  when  she  rejoined  him,  the 
look  had  entirely  gone.  "  You  have  not 
seen  my  sister  since  you  were  at  Sidon,  I 
believe  ?  "  she  said  quietly.  "  She  would 
be  sorry  to  miss  you."  But  Euphemia  and 
her  train  were  already  passing  them  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  long  table.  She  had 
evidently  recognized  Grant,  yet  the  two  sis- 
ters were  looking  intently  into  each  other's 
eyes  when  he  raised  his  own.  Then  Euphe- 
mia met  his  bow  with  a  momentary  acces- 
sion of  color,  a  coquettish  wave  of  her  hand 
across  the  table,  a  slight  exaggeration  of 
her  usual  fascinating  recklessness,  and  smil- 
ingly moved  away.  He  turned  to  Clemen- 
tina, but  here  an  ominous  tapping  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  long  table  revealed  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Harcourt  was  standing  on  a 
chair  with  oratorical  possibilities  in  his  face 
and  attitude.  There  was  another  forward 
movement  in  the  crowd  and  —  silence.  In 
that    solid,    black-broadclothed,    respectable 

figure,  that  massive  watchchain,  that  white 
E— Bret  Harte  v.  22 


130      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

waistcoat,  that  diamond  pin  glistening  in 
the  satin  cravat,  Euphemia  might  have  seen 
the  realization  of  her  prophetic  vision  at 
Sidon  five  years  before. 

He  spoke  for  ten  minutes  with  a  fluency 
and  comprehensive  business-like  directness 
that  surprised  Grant.  He  was  not  there,  he 
said,  to  glorify  what  had  been  done  by  him- 
self, his  family,  or  his  friends  in  Tasajara. 
Others  who  were  to  follow  him  might  do 
that,  or  at  least  might  be  better  able  to  ex- 
plain and  expatiate  upon  the  advantages  of 
the  institution  they  had  just  opened,  and  its 
social,  moral,  and  I'eligious  effect  upon  the 
community.  He  was  there  as  a  business 
man  to  demonstrate  to  them  —  as  he  had  al- 
ways done  and  always  hoped  to  do  —  the 
money  value  of  improvement ;  the  profit  — 
if  they  might  choose  to  call  it  —  of  well-reg- 
ulated and  properly  calculated  speculation. 
The  plot  of  land  upon  which  they  stood,  of 
which  the  building  occupied  only  one  eighth, 
was  bought  two  years  before  for  ten  thousand 
dollars.  When  the  plans  of  the  building 
were  completed  a  month  afterwards,  the 
value  of  the  remaining  seven  eighths  had 
risen  enough  to  defray  the  cost  of  the  entire 
construction.     He  was  in  a  position  to  tell 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA.      131 

them  that  only  that  morning  the  adjacent 
property,  subdivided  and  laid  out  in  streets 
and  building-plots,  had  been  admitted  into 
the  corporate  limits  of  the  city;  and  that  on 
the  next  anniversary  of  the  building  they 
would  approach  it  through  an  avenue  of 
finished  dwellings !  An  outburst  of  ap- 
plause followed  the  speaker's  practical 
climax ;  the  fresh  young  faces  of  his  audi- 
tors glowed  with  invincible  enthusiasm  ;  the 
afternoon  trade-winds,  freshening  over  the 
limitless  plain  beyond,  tossed  the  bright 
banners  at  the  windows  as  with  sympathetic 
rejoicing,  and  a  few  odorous  pine  shavings, 
overlooked  in  a  corner  in  the  hurry  of  pre- 
paration, touched  by  an  eddying  zephyr, 
crept  out  and  rolled  in  yellow  ringlets  across 
the  floor. 

The  Reverend  Doctor  Pilsbury  arose  in  a 
more  decorous  silence.  He  had  listened 
approvingly,  admiringly,  he  might  say  even 
reverently,  to  the  preceding  speaker.  But 
although  his  distinguished  friend  had,  with 
his  usual  modesty,  made  light  of  his  ovni 
services  and  those  of  his  charming  family, 
he,  the  speaker,  had  not  risen  to  sing  his 
prai'ses.  No ;  it  was  not  in  this  Hall,  pro- 
jected by  his  foresight  and  raised  by  his 


132      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

liberality;  in  this  town,  called  into  existence 
by  his  energy  and  stamped  by  his  attributes ; 
in  this  county,  developed  by  his  genius  and 
sustained  by  his  capital ;  ay,  in  this  very 
State  whose  grandeur  was  made  possible  by 
such  giants  as  he,  —  it  was  not  in  any  of 
these  places  that  it  was  necessary  to  praise 
Daniel  Harcourt,  or  that  a  panegyric  of  him 
would  be  more  than  idle  repetition.  Nor 
would  he,  as  that  distinguished  man  had 
suggested,  enlarge  upon  the  social,  moral, 
and  religious  benefits  of  the  improvement 
they  were  now  celebrating.  It  was  written 
on  the  happy,  innocent  faces,  in  the  festive 
garb,  in  the  decorous  demeanor,  in  the  intel- 
ligent eyes  that  sparkled  around  him,  in  the 
presence  of  those  of  his  parishioners  whom 
he  could  meet  as  freely  here  to-day  as  in  his 
own  church  on  Sunday.  What  then  could 
he  say  ?  What  then  was  there  to  say  ? 
Perhaps  he  should  say  nothing  if  it  were 
not  for  the  presence  of  the  young  before 
him.  —  He  stopped  and  fixed  his  eyes  pater- 
nally on  the  youthful  Johnny  Billings,  who 
with  a  half  dozen  other  Sunday-school 
scholars  had  been  marshaled  before  the  rev- 
erend speaker.  —  And  whnt  was  to  be  the 
lesson   they  were  to  ieuru  fioui   it?     They 


A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.       133 

had  heard  what  had  been  achieved  by  labor, 
enterprise,  and  diligence.  Perhaps  they 
would  believe,  and  naturally  too,  that  what 
labor,  enterprise,  and  diligence  had  done 
could  be  done  again.  But  was  that  all  ? 
Was  there  nothing  behind  these  qualities  — 
which,  after  all,  were  within  the  reach  of 
every  one  here  ?  Had  they  ever  thought 
that  back  of  every  pioneer,  every  explorer, 
every  pathfinder,  every  founder  and  creator, 
there  was  still  another  ?  There  was  no  terra 
incognita  so  rare  as  to  be  unknown  to  one ; 
no  wilderness  so  remote  as  to  be  beyond  a 
greater  ken  than  theirs  ;  no  waste  so  track- 
less but  that  one  had  already  passed  that 
way  I  Did  they  ever  reflect  that  when  the 
dull  sea  ebbed  and  flowed  in  the  tides  over 
the  very  spot  where  they  were  now  stand- 
ing, who  it  was  that  also  foresaw,  con- 
ceived, and  ordained  the  mighty  change  that 
would  take  place ;  who  even  guided  and  di- 
rected the  feeble  means  employed  to  work 
it ;  whose  spirit  moved,  as  in  still  older  days 
of  wliieh  they  had  i-ead,  over  tlie  face  of  the 
stagnant  waters  ?  Pei'haps  they  had.  Who 
then  was  the  real  pioneer  of  Tasajara,  — 
back  of  the  I  larcourts.  the  Peterses,  the  Bil- 
lingses,  and  Wingates  ?     The  reverend  ":en- 


134      A   FIBST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

tlcman  gently  paused  for  a  reply.     It  was 
given  in  the  clear  but  startled  accents  of  the 
half  frightened,  half-fascinated  Johnny  Bil- 
lings, in  three  words :  — 
"  'Lige  Curtis,  sir  I " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  trade  wind,  that,  blowing  directly 
from  the  Golden  Gate,  seemed  to  concen- 
trate its  full  force  upon  the  western  slope 
of  Russian  Hill,  might  have  dismayed  any 
climber  less  hopeful  and  sanguine  than  that 
most  imaginative  of  newspaper  reporters 
and  most  youthful  of  husbands,  John  Milton 
Harcourt.  But  for  all  that  it  was  an  honest 
wind,  and  its  dry,  practical  energy  and  salt- 
pervading  breath  only  seemed  to  sting  him 
to  greater  and  more  enthusiastic  exertions, 
until,  quite  at  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  last 
of  a  stracfsiino-  line  of  little  cottajres  half 
sul)merged  in  drifting  sand,  he  stood  upon 
his  own  humble  porch. 

"  I  was  thinking,  coming  up  the  hill, 
Loo,"  he  said,  bursting  into  the  sitting- 
room,  pantingly,  "of  writing  something 
about  tlie  future  of  the  hill !  How  it  will 
look  fifty  years  from  now,  all  terraced  with 
houses  and  gardens  I  —  and  right  up  here 
a  kind  of  Acropolis,  don't   you   know.      I 


13G      A  FIEST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

had  quite  a  picture  of  it  in  my  mind  just 
now." 

A  plainly-dressed  young  woman  with  a 
pretty  face,  that,  however,  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  prematurely  sapped  of  color  and  vital- 
ity, here  laid  aside  some  white  sewing  she 
had  in  her  lap,  and  said  :  — 

"  But  you  did  that  once  before,  Milty,  and 
you  know  the  "  Herald  "  would  n't  take  it 
because  they  said  it  was  a  free  notice  of  Mr. 
Boorem's  building  lots,  and  he  didn't  adver- 
tise in  the  "  Herald."  I  always  told  you 
that  you  ought  to  have  seen  Boorem  first." 

The  3'Oung  fellow  blinked  his  eyes  with  a 
momentary  arrest  of  that  buoyant  hopeful- 
ness which  was  their  peculiar  characteristic, 
but  nevertheless  replied  with  undaunted 
cheerfulness,  "I  forgot.  Anyhow,  it 's  all 
the  same,  for  I  worked  it  into  that  '  Sun- 
day Walk.'  And  it  's  just  as  easy  to  write 
it  the  other  way,  you  see,  — ■  looking  back, 
dozen  the  Jtllh  you  know.  Something  about 
the  old  Padres  toiling  through  the  sand  just 
l)efore  the  Angelus  :  or  as  far  back  as  Sir 
Francis  Drake's  time,  and  have  a  runaway 
boat's  crew,  coming  ashore  to  look  for  gold 
that  the  Mexiciuis  had  talked  of.  Lord ! 
that  's  easy  enough  I     1  tell  you  what,  Loo, 


A  FIEST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA.      137 

it  's  worth  living  up  here  just  for  the  inspira- 
tion." Even  while  boyishly  exhaling  this 
enthusiasm  he  was  also  divesting  himself  of 
certain  bundles  whose  contents  seemed  to 
imply  that  he  had  brouglit  his  dinner  with 
him,  —  the  youthful  Mrs.  Ilarcourt  setting 
the  table  in  a  perfunctory,  listless  way  that 
contrasted  oddly  with  her  husband's  cheer- 
ful energy. 

"  You  have  n't  heard  of  any  regular  situa- 
tion yet  ?  "  she  asked  abstractedly. 

"  No,  —  not  exactly,"  he  replied.  "  But 
[buoyantly]  it 's  a  great  deal  better  for  me 
not  to  take  anything  in  a  hurry  and  tie  my- 
self to  any  particular  line.  Now,  I  'm  quite 
free." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  have  n't  seen  that  Mr. 
Fletcher  again  ?  "  she  continued. 

"  No.  lie  only  wanted  to  know  something 
about  me.  That  's  the  way  with  them  all, 
Loo.  Whenever  I  apply  for  work  anywhere 
it  's  always  :  '  So  you  're  Dan'l  Ilarcourt's 
son,  ch  ?  Quarreled  with  the  old  man  ? 
Bad  job  ;  better  make  it  up  !  You  '11  make 
more  stickin'  to  him.  He  's  worth  millions ! ' 
Everybody  seems  to  think  everything  of  him^ 
as  if  /  had  no  individuality  beyond  that. 
1  've  a  good  mind  to  clidnge  my  name." 


138      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T AS  AJAR  A. 

"  And  pray  what  would  mine  be  then  ?  " 

There  was  so  much  irritation  in  her  voice 
that  he  drew  nearer  her  and  gently  put  his 
arm  around  her  waist.  "  Why,  whatever 
mine  was,  darling,"  he  said  with  a  tender 
smile.  "  You  did  n't  fall  in  love  with  any 
particular  name,  did  you,  Loo  ?  " 

"•  No,  but  I  married  a  particular  one,"  she 
said  quickly. 

His  eyelids  quivered  again,  as  if  he  was 
avoiding  some  unpleasantly  staring  sugges- 
tion, and  she  stopped. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  dear,"  she  said, 
with  a  quick  little  laugh.  "  Just  because 
your  father  's  an  old  crosspatch,  you  have  n't 
lost  your  rights  to  his  name  and  property. 
And  those  people  who  say  you  ought  to 
make  it  up  perhaps  know  what  's  for  the 
best." 

"  But  you  remember  what  he  said  of  you. 
Loo  ?  "  said  the  young  man  with  a  flashing 
eye.  "  Do  you  thiuk  I  can  ever  forget 
that  ?  " 

"  But  you  do  forget  it,  dear ;  you  forget 
it  when  you  go  in  town  among  fresh  faces 
and  people  ;  when  you  are  looking  for  work. 
You  forget  it  when  you  're  at  work  writing 
your  copy,  —  for  I  've  seen  you  smile  as  you 


A  FlliiiT  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA       139 

wrote.  You  forget  it  climbing  up  the  dread- 
ful santi,  for  you  were  thinking  just  now  of 
what  happened  years  ago,  or  is  to  happen 
years  to  come.  And  I  want  to  forget  it  too, 
Milty.  I  don't  want  to  sit  here  all  day, 
thinking  of  it,  with  the  wind  driving  tlie 
sand  against  the  window,  and  nothing  to  look 
at  but  those  white  tombs  in  Lone  Mountain 
Cemetery,  and  those  white  caps  that  might  be 
gravestones  too,  and  not  a  soul  to  talk  to  or 
even  see  pass  by  until  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
dead  and  buried  also.  If  you  were  me  —  you 
—  you  —  you  —  could  n't  help  crying  too !  " 
Indeed  he  was  very  near  it  now.  For  as 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  suddenly  seeing 
with  a  lover's  sympathy  and  the  poet's 
swifter  imagination  all  that  she  had  seen  and 
even  more,  he  was  aghast  at  the  vision  con- 
jured. In  her  delicate  health  and  loneliness 
how  dreadful  must  have  been  these  mono- 
tonous days,  and  this  glittering,  cruel  sea  I 
AV'hat  a  selfish  brute  he  was  I  Yet  as  he 
stood  there  holding  her,  silently  and  rhyth- 
mically marking  his  tenderness  and  remorse- 
ful feelings  by  rocking  her  from  side  to  side 
like  a  languid  metronome,  she  quietly  disen 
gaged  her  wet  lashes  from  his  shoulder  and 
said  in  quite  another  tone  :  — 


140       A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

"  So  they  were  all  at  Tasajara  last 
week  ?  " 

"Who,  dear?" 

"  Your  father  and  sisters." 

"  Yes,"  said  John  ]\Iilton,  hesitatingly. 

"  ^Vnd  they  've  taken  back  your  sister  after 
her  divorce?  " 

The  staring  obtrusiveness  of  this  fact  ap- 
parently made  her  husband's  bright  sympa- 
thetic eye  blink  as  before. 

"  And  if  you  were  to  divorce  me,  you 
would  be  taken  back  too,"  she  added  quickly, 
suddenly  withdrawing  herself  with  a  pettish 
movement  and  walking  to  the  window. 

But  he  followed.  "  Don't  talk  in  that 
way,  Loo  !  Don't  look  in  that  way,  dear  I  " 
he  said,  taking  her  hand  gently,  yet  not  with- 
out a  sense  of  some  inconsistency  in  her  con- 
duct that  jarred  upon  his  own  simple  direct- 
ness. "  You  know  that  nothing  can  part  us 
now.  I  was  wi-ong  to  let  my  little  girl  worry 
herself  .'U  alone  here,  but  I —  I  —  thought  it 
was  all  s)  — so  bright  and  free  out  on  this 
hill,  —  koking  far  awry  beyond  the  Golden 
Gate,  —  as  far  as  Cathay,  you  know,  and 
su(di  a  change  from  those  dismal  flats  of  Ta- 
sajara and  that  awful  stretch  of  tulcs.  But 
it 's  all  right  now.  And  now  that  I  know 
how  you  feel,  v/o  '11  go  elsewhere." 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       141 

She  did  not  reply.  Perhaps  she  found  it 
difficult  to  keep  up  her  injured  attitude  in 
the  face  of  her  husband's  gentleness.  Per- 
haps her  attention  had  been  attracted  by  the 
unusual  spectacle  of  a  stranger,  who  had 
just  mounted  the  hill  and  was  now  slowly 
passing  along  the  line  of  cottages  with  a 
hesitating  air  of  inquiry.  "  He  may  be 
looking  for  this  house,  —  for  you,"  she  said 
in  an  entirely  new  tone  of  interest.  "  llun 
out  and  see.  It  may  be  some  one  who 
wants  "  — 

"  An  article,"  said  Milton  cheerfully. 
"  By  Jove  !  he  is  coming  here." 

The  stranger  was  indeed  approaching  the 
little  cottage,  and  with  apparently  some  con- 
fidence. He  was  a  well-dressed,  well-made 
man,  whose  age  looked  uncertain  from  the 
contrast  between  his  heavy  brown  mous- 
tache and  his  hair,  that,  curling  under  the 
brim  of  his  hat,  was  almost  white  in  color. 
The  young  man  started,  and  said,  hurriedly  : 
"  I  really  believe  it  is  Fletcher,  —  they  say 
his  hair  turned  white  from  the  Panama 
fever." 

It  was  indeed  Mr.  Fletcher  who  entered 
and  introduced  himself,  —  a  gentle  reserved 
man,  with  something  of  that  colorlessncr.s  of 


142       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

premature  age  in  his  speech  which  was  ob- 
servable in  his  hair.  He  had  heard  of  Mr. 
Harcourt  from  a  friend  who  had  recom- 
mended him  highly.  As  Mr.  Harcourt  had 
probably  been  told,  he,  the  speaker,  was 
about  to  embark  some  capital  in  a  first-class 
newspaper  in  San  Francisco,  and  should 
select  the  staff  himself.  He  wanted  to  secure 
only  first-rate  talent,  —  but  above  all,  youth- 
fulness,  directness,  and  originality.  The 
"  Clarion,"  for  that  was  to  be  its  name,  was 
to  have  nothing  "old  fogy  "  about  it.  No. 
It  was  distinctly  to  be  the  organ  of  Young 
California !  This  and  much  more  from  the 
grave  lips  of  the  elderly  young  man,  whose 
speech  seemed  to  be  divided  between  the 
pretty,  but  equally  faded,  young  wife,  and 
the  one  personification  of  invincible  youth 
present,  —  her  husband. 

"  But  I  fear  I  have  interrupted  your  house- 
hold duties,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "  You  were 
preparing  dinner.  Pray  go  on.  And  let  me 
help  you,  —  I  'm  not  a  bad  cook,  —  and  you 
can  give  me  my  reward  by  letting  me  share 
it  with  you,  for  the  climb  up  here  has  sharp- 
ened my  appetite.  We  can  talk  as  we  go 
on." 

It  was  in  vain  to  protest ;  there  was  some- 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.      143 

thin^  paternal  as  well  as  practical  in  the 
camaraderie  of  this  actual  capitalist  and 
possible  Maecenas  and  patron  as  he  quietly 
hung  up  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  helped  to 
set  the  table  with  a  practiced  hand.  Nor, 
as  he  suggested,  did  the  conversation  falter, 
and  before  they  had  taken  their  seats  at  the 
frugal  board  he  had  already  engaged  John 
Milton  Harcourt  as  assistant  editor  of  the 
"  Clarion  "  at  a  salary  that  seemed  princely 
to  this  son  of  a  millionaire  !  The  young  wife 
meantime  had  taken  active  part  in  the  discus- 
sion ;  whether  it  was  vaguely  understood  that 
the  possession  of  poetical  and  imaginative 
faculties  precluded  any  capacity  for  business, 
or  whether  it  was  owing  to  the  apparent 
superior  maturity  of  Mrs.  Harcourt  and  the 
stranger,  it  was  certain  that  they  arranged 
the  practical  details  of  the  engagement,  and 
that  the  youthful  husband  sat  silent,  merely 
offering  his  always  hopeful  and  sanguine  con- 
sent. 

"  You  '11  take  a  house  nearer  to  town,  I 
suppose?"  continued  Mr.  Fletcher  to  the 
lady,  "  though  you  've  a  charming  view  here. 
I  suppose  it  was  cjuite  a  change  from  Tasajara 
and  your  father-in-law's  house?  I  daresay 
he  had  as  fine  a  place  there  —  on  his  own 
homestead  —  as  he  has  here  ?  " 


144      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

Young  Harcourt  dropped  his  sensitive 
eyelids  again.  It  seemed  hard  that  he  could 
never  get  away  from  these  allusions  to  his 
father !  Perhaps  it  was  only  to  that  relation- 
ship that  ho  was  indebted  for  his  visitor's 
kindness.  In  his  simple  honesty  he  could 
not  bear  the  thought  of  such  a  misapprehen- 
sion. "  Perhaps,  Mr.  Fletcher,  you  do  not 
know,"  he  said,  "that  my  father  is  not  on 
terms  with  me,  and  that  we  neither  expect 
anything  nor  could  we  ever  take  anything 
from  him.  Could  we.  Loo  ? "  He  added 
the  useless  question  partly  because  he  saw 
that  his  wife's  face  betrayed  little  sympathy 
with  him,  and  partly  that  Fletcher  was  look- 
ing at  her  curiously,  as  if  for  confirmation. 
But  this  was  another  of  John  Milton's  trials 
as  an  imaginative  reporter ;  nobody  ever 
seemed  to  care  for  his  practical  opinions  or 
facts ! 

"  Mr.  Fletcher  is  not  interested  in  our 
little  family  differences,  Milty,"  she  said, 
looking  at  Mr.  Fletcher,  however,  instead  of 
him.  "  You  're  Daniel  Ilarcourt's  son  what- 
ever happens." 

The  cloud  that  had  passed  over  the  young 
man's  face  and  eyes  did  not,  however,  es- 
cape Mr.  Fletcher's  attention,  for  he  smiled, 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       145 

and  added  gayly,  "  And  I  hope  my  valued 
lieutenant  in  any  ease."  Nevertheless  John 
Milton  was  quite  ready  to  avail  himself  of  an 
inspiration  to  feteh  some  cigars  for  his  guest 
from  the  bar  of  the  Sea- View  House  on  the 
slope  of  the  hill  beyond,  and  thereby  avoid  a 
fateful  subject.  Once  in  the  fresh  air  again 
ho  promptly  recovered  his  boyish  spirits. 
The  light  flying  scud  had  already  effaced  the 
first  rising  stars  ;  the  lower  creeping  sea-fog 
had  already  blotted  out  the  western  shore 
and  sea ;  but  below  him  to  the  east  the  glitter- 
ing lights  of  the  city  seemed  to  start  up  with 
a  new,  mysterious,  and  dazzling  brilliancy. 
It  was  the  valley  of  diamonds  that  Sindbad 
saw  lying  almost  at  his  feet !  Perhaps  some- 
where there  the  light  of  his  own  fame  and 
fortune  was  already  beginning  to  twinkle  ! 

He  returned  to  his  humblQroof  joyous  and 
inspired.  As  he  entered  the  hall  he  heard 
his  wife's  voice  and  his  on\ti  name  mentioned, 
followed  by  that  awkward,  meaningless 
silence  on  his  entrance  which  so  plainly  indi- 
cated either  that  he  had  been  the  subject  of 
conversation  or  that  it  was  not  for  his  ears. 
It  was  a  dismal  reminder  of  his  boyhood  at 
Sidon  and  Tasajara.  But  he.  was  too  full  of 
hope  and  ambition  to  heed  it  to-night,  and 


146      A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF  T  AS  AJAR  A. 

later,  when  Mr.  Fletclier  had  taken  his  de- 
parture, his  pent-up  enthusiasm  burst  out 
before  his  youthful  partner.  Had  she  rea- 
lized that  their  struggles  were  over  now,  that 
their  future  was  secure?  They  need  no 
longer  fear  ever  being  forced  to  take  bounty 
from  the  family ;  they  were  independent  of 
them  all  !  He  would  make  a  name  for  him- 
self that  should  be  distinct  from  his  father's 
as  he  should  make  a  fortune  that  would  be 
theirs  alone.  The  young  wife  smiled.  "  But 
all  that  need  not  prevent  you,  dear,  from 
claiming  your  rights  when  the  time  comes." 

"  But  if  I  scorn  to  make  the  claim  or  take 
a  penny  of  his.  Loo?  " 

"You  say  you  scorn  to  take  the  money 
you  think  your  father  got  by  a  mere  trick,  — 
at  the  best,  —  and  did  n't  earn.  And  now 
you  will  be  able  to  show  you  can  live  with- 
out it,  and  earn  your  own  fortune.  Well, 
dear,  for  that  very  reason  why  should  you 
let  your  father  and  others  enjoy  and  waste 
what  is  fairly  your  share  ?  For  it  is  yo7i,r 
share  whether  it  came  to  your  father  fairly 
or  not ;  and  if  not,  it  is  still  your  duty,  be- 
lieving as  you  do,  to  claim  it  from  him,  tliat 
at  least  yon  may  do  with  it  what  j^ou  choose. 
You  might  want  to  restore  it  —  to  —  to  — 
somebody. " 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA.       147 

The  young  man  laughed.  "  But,  my  dear 
Loo !  suppose  that  I  were  weak  enough  to 
claim  it,  do  you  tliink  my  father  would  give 
it  up  ?  He  has  the  right,  and  no  law  could 
force  him  to  yield  to  me  more  than  he 
chooses." 

"  Not  the  law,  —  but  you  could." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said  quickly. 

"  You  could  force  him  by  simply  telling 
him  what  you  once  told  me." 

John  Milton  drew  back,  and  his  hand 
dropped  loosely  from  his  wife's.  The  color 
left  his  fresh  young  face ;  the  light  quivered 
for  a  moment  and  then  became  fixed  and  set 
in  his  eyes.  For  that  moment  he  looked  teti 
years  her  senior.  "  I  was  wrong  ever  to  tell 
even  you  that.  Loo,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  You  are  wrong  to  ever  remind  me  of  it. 
Forget  it  from  this  moment,  as  you  value 
our  love  and  want  it  to  live  and  be  remem- 
bered. And  forget.  Loo,  as  I  do,  —  and  ever 
shall,  —  that  you  ever  suggested  to  me  to 
use  my  secret  in  the  way  you  did  just  now." 

But  here  Mrs.  Ilarcourt  burst  into  tears, 
more  touched  by  the  alteration  in  her  hus- 
band's manner,  I  fear,  than  by  any  contri- 
tion for  wrongdoing.  Of  course  if  he  wished 
to  withdraw  his  confidences  from  her,  just 


148      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

as  he  had  ahnost  confessed  he  ^vlshed  to 
withdraw  his  name,  she  could  n't  help  it, 
but  it  was  hard  that  when  she  sat  there  all 
day  long  trying  to  think  what  was  best  for 
them,  she  should  be  blamed  !  At  which  the 
quiet  and  forgiving  John  Milton  smiled  re- 
morsefully and  tried  to  comfort  her.  Nev- 
ertheless an  occasional  odd,  indefinable  chill 
seemed  to  creep  across  the  feverish  enthusi- 
asm with  which  he  was  celebrating  this  day 
of  fortune.  And  yet  he  neither  knew  nor 
suspected  until  long  after  that  his  foolish 
wife  had  that  night  half  betrayed  his  secret 
to  the  stranger  I 

The  next  day  he  presented  a  note  of  in- 
troduction from  Mr.  Fletcher  to  the  busi- 
ness manager  of  the  "  Clarion,"  and  the  fol- 
lowing morning  was  duly  installed  in  office. 
He  did  not  see  his  benefactor  again  ;  that 
single  visit  was  left  in  the  mystery  and  iso- 
lation of  an  angelic  episode.  It  later  ap- 
peared that  other  and  larger  interests  in  the 
San  Jose  valley  claimed  his  patron's  resi- 
dence and  attendance  ;  only  the  capital  and 
general  purpose  of  the  paper  —  to  develop 
into  a  party  organ  in  the  interest  of  his  pos- 
sible senatorial  aspirations  in  due  season  — 
was    fuvriislK'd  by  him.     Grateful  as  John 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASA.IARA.       149 

Milton  felt  towards  him,  be  was  relieved  ; 
it  seemed  probable  that  Mr.  Fleteher  Juid 
selected  him  on  his  individual  merits,  and 
not  as  the  son  of  a  millionaire. 

lie  threw  himself  into  his  woi-k  with  his 
old  hopeful  enthusiasm,  and  perhaps  an  ori- 
ginality of  method  that  was  part  of  his 
singular  independence.  Without  the  stu- 
dent's training  or  restraint,  —  for  his  two 
years'  schooling  at  Tasajara  during  his  par- 
ents' prosperity  came  too  late  to  act  as  a  dis- 
cipline, —  he  was  unfettered  by  any  rules, 
and  guided  only  by  an  unerring  instinctive 
taste  that  became  near  being  genius.  He 
was  a  brilliant  and  original,  if  not  always  a 
profound  and  accurate,  reporter.  By  de- 
grees he  became  an  accustomed  interest  to 
the  readers  of  the  "  Clarion  ;  "  then  an  influ- 
ence. Actors  themselves  in  many  a  fierce 
drama,  living  lives  of  devotion,  emotion,  and 
picturesque  incident,  they  had  satisfied 
themselves  with  only  the  briefest  and  most 
practical  daily  record  of  their  adventure, 
and  even  at  first  were  dazed  and  startled  to 
find  that  many  of  them  had  been  heroes  and 
some  poets.  The  stealthy  boyish  reader  of 
romantic  chronicle  at  Sidon  had  learned  by 
heart  the  chivalrous  story  of  the  emigration. 


150     A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

The  second  column  of  tlie  "Clarion  "  became 
famous  even  while  the  figure  of  its  youthful 
writer,  unknown  and  unrecognized,  was  still 
nightly  climbing  the  sands  of  Russian  Hill, 
and  even  looking  down  as  before  on  the 
lights  of  the  growing  city,  without  a  thought 
that  he  had  added  to  that  glittering  constel- 
lation. 

Cheerful  and  contented  with  the  exercise 
of  work,  he  would  have  been  happy  but 
for  the  gradual  haunting  of  another  dread 
which  presently  began  to  drag  him  at  earlier 
hours  up  the  steep  path  to  his  little  home  ; 
to  halt  him  before  the  door  with  the  quick- 
ened breath  of  an  anxiety  he  would  scarcely 
confess  to  himself,  and  sometimes  hold  liim 
aimlessly  a  whole  day  beneath  his  roof. 
For  the  pretty  but  delicate  Mrs.  Ilar- 
court,  like  others  of  her  class,  had  added  a 
weak  and  ineffective  maternity  to  their 
other  conjugal  trials,  and  one  early  dawn 
a  baby  was  born  that  lingered  with  them 
scarcely  longer  than  the  morning  mist  and 
exhaled  with  the  rising  sun.  The  young  wife 
regained  her  strength  slowly,  —  so  slowly 
that  the  youthful  husband  brought  his  work 
at  times  to  the  house  to  keep  her  company. 
And  a  singular  change  had  come  over  her. 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T AS  AJAR  A.      151 

She  no  longer  talked  of  the  past,  nor  of  liis 
family.  As  if  the  little  life  that  had  passed 
witli  that  morning  mist  had  represented 
some  ascending  expiatory  sacrifice,  it  seemed 
to  have  brought  them  into  closer  commun- 
ion. 

Yet  her  weak  condition  made  him  conceal 
another  trouble  that  had  come  upon  him. 
It  was  in  the  third  month  of  his  employ- 
ment on  the  "  Clarion  "  that  one  afternoon, 
while  correcting  some  proofs  on  his  chief's 
desk,  he  came  upon  the  following  editorial 
paragraph :  — 

"  The  played-out  cant  of  '  pioneer  genius  ' 
and  '  pioneer  discovery '  appears  to  have 
reached  its  climax  in  the  attem2)t  of  some  of 
our  contemporaries  to  apply  it  to  Dan  Ilar- 
court's  new  Tasajara  Job  before  the  legisla- 
ture. It  is  perfectly  well  known  in  Ilar- 
court's  own  district  that,  far  from  being  a 
pioneer  and  settler  Idmsclf]  he  simply  suc- 
ceeded after  a  fashion  to  the  genuine  work 
of  one  Elijah  Curtis,  an  actual  pioneer  and 
discoverer,  years  before,  while  Ilarcourt,  we 
believe,  was  keeping  a  frontier  doggery  in 
Sidon,  and  dispensing  '  tanglefoot '  and  salt 
junk  to  the  hayfooted  Pike  Countians  of  his 
precinct.     This  would  make  him  as  much  of 


152      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TABAJARA. 

the  '  pioneer  discoverer '  as  the  rattlesnake 
who  first  takes  np  board  and  lodgings  and 
then  possession  in  a  prairie  dog's  burrow. 
And  if  the  traveler's  tale  is  time  that  the 
rattlesnake  sometimes  makes  a  meal  of  his 
landlord,  the  story  told  at  Sidon  may  be 
equally  credible  that  the  original  pioneer 
mysteriously  disappeared  about  the  time 
that  Dan  Ilarcourt  came  into  the  property. 
From  which  it  would  seem  that  Ilarcourt  is 
not  in  a  position  for  his  friends  to  invite 
very  deep  scrutiny  into  his  '  pioneer  '  achieve- 
ments." 

Stupefaction,  a  vague  terror,  and  rising 
anger,  rapidly  succeeded  each  other  in  the 
young  man's  mind  as  he  stood  mechanically 
holding  the  paper  in  his  hand.  It  was  the 
writing  of  his  chief  editor,  whose  easy  bru- 
tality he  had  sometimes  even  boyishly  ad- 
mired. Without  stopping  to  consider  their 
relative  positions  he  sought  him  indignantly 
and  laid  the  proof  before  him.  The  editor 
laughed.  "  But  what  's  that  to  yoii  ? 
Yon  're  not  on  terms  with  the  old  man." 

"  But  he  is  my  father !  "  said  John  Mil- 
ton hotly. 

"Look  hero,"  said  the  editor  good-na- 
turedly, "  I  'd  like  to  oblige  you,  but  it  is  n't 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       153 

business,  you  know,  —  and  this  is,  yon  un- 
derstand,—  jvoprietors  business  too!  Of 
course  I  see  it  might  stand  in  the  way  of 
your  making  up  to  tlie  old  man  afterwards 
and  coming  in  for  a  million.  AYell !  you 
can  tell  him  it 's  ?ne.  Say  I  would  put  it 
in.     Say  I  'm  nasty  —  and  I  arn  !  " 

"  Then  it  must  go  in  ?  "  said  John  Mil- 
ton with  a  white  face. 

"  You  bet." 

"  Then  /  must  go  out !  "  And  writing  out 
his  resignation,  he  laid  it  before  his  chief 
and  left. 

But  he  could  not  bear  to  tell  this  to  his 
wife  when  he  climbed  the  hill  that  night, 
and  he  invented  some  excuse  for  bringfinfj  his 
work  home.  The  invalid  never  noticed  any 
change  in  his  usual  buoyancy,  and  indeed  I 
fear,  when  he  was  fairly  installed  with  his 
writing  materials  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  he 
had  quite  forgotten  the  episode.  lie  was 
recalled  to  it  by  a  faint  sigh. 

"  What  is  it,  dear?  '  he  said  looking  up. 

"  I  like  to  see  you  writing,  Milty.  You 
always  look  so  happy." 

"  Always  so  hap]\v,  dear?" 

''  "i  t's.     You  are  ]ia])]n',  are  j'ou  not  ?  " 

'*  Always."     He   got  up  and   kissed  her. 


154      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T AS  AJAR  A. 

NevertKeless,  when  he  sat  down  to  his  work 
again,  his  face  was  turned  a  little  more  to 
the  window. 

Another  serious  incident  —  to  be  also 
kept  from  the  invalid  —  shortly  followed. 
The  article  in  the  "  Clarion  "  had  borne  its 
fruit.  The  third  day  after  his  resignation 
a  rival  paper  sharply  retorted.  "  The  cow- 
ardly insinuations  against  the  record  of  a 
justly  honored  capitalist,"  said  the  "  Pio- 
neer," "  although  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
brazen  '  Clarion,'  might  attract  the  atten- 
tions of  the  slandered  party,  if  it  were  not 
known  to  his  friends  as  well  as  himself  that 
it  may  be  traced  almost  directly  to  a  cast-off 
member  of  his  own  family,  who,  it  seems,  is 
reduced  to  haunting  the  back  doors  of  cer- 
tain blatant  journals  to  dispose  of  his  cheap 
wares.  The  slanderer  is  secure  from  public 
exposure  in  the  superior  decency  of  his  rela- 
tions, who  refrain  from  airing  their  family 
linen  upon  editorial  lines." 

This  was  the  journal  to  which  John  Mil- 
ton liad  hopefully  turned  for  work.  When  he 
read  it  there  seemed  but  one  thing  for  him 
to  do  —  and  he  did  it.  Gentle  and  optimis- 
tic as  was  liis  nature,  he  had  been  brought 
up  in  a  coummnity  where  sincere  directness 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF    T  AS  AJAR  A.       155 

of  personal  offense  was  followed  by  equally 
sincere  directness  of  personal  redress,  and 
—  he  challenged  the  editor.  The  bearer  of 
his  cartel  M'as  one  Jack  Hamlin,  I  grieve  to 
say  a  gambler  by  profession,  but  between 
whom  and  John  Milton  had  sprung  up  an 
odd  friendship  of  which  the  best  that  can 
be  said  is  that  it  was  to  each  equally  and 
unselfishly  unprofitable.  The  challenge  was 
acce])ted,  the  preliminaries  arranged.  "  I 
suppose,"  said  Jack  carelessly,  "  as  the  old 
man  ought  to  do  something  for  your  wife  in 
case  of  accident,  you  've  made  some  sort  of 
a  will  ?  " 

"  I  've  thought  of  that,"  said  Jolin  Mil- 
ton, dubiously,  *•  but  I  'm  afraid  it 's  no  use. 
You  see"  —  he  hesitated  —  "I'm  not  of 
age." 

"  May  I  ask  how  old  you  are,  sonny  ?  " 
said  Jack  with  great  gravity. 

"  I  'm  almost  twenty,"  said  John  Milton, 
coloring. 

"It  isn't  exactly  vingt-et-un,  but  I'd 
stand  on  it ;  if  I  were  you  I  would  n't  draw 
to  such  a  hand,"  said  Jack,  coolly. 

The  young  husband  had  arranged  to  be 
absent  from  his  home  that  night,  and  early 
morning  found  him,  with  Jack,  grave,  but 


156      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

courageous,  in  a  little  hollow  behind  the  Mis- 
sion Hills.  To  them  presently  approached 
his  antagonist,  jauntily  accompanied  by  Colo- 
nel Starbottle,  his  second.  They  halted, 
but  after  the  formal  salutation  were  instantly 
joined  by  Jack  Hamlin.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments John  Milton  remained  awkwardly 
alone  —  pending  a  conversation  which  even 
at  that  supreme  moment  he  felt  as  being 
like  the  general  attitude  of  his  friends  to- 
wards him,  in  its  complete  ignoring  of  him- 
self. The  next  moment  the  three  men 
stepped  towards  him.  "  We  have  come, 
sir,"  said  Colonel  Starbottle  in  his  precisest 
speech  but  his  jauntiest  manner,  "  to  offer 
you  a  full  and  ample  apology  —  a  personal 
apology  —  which  only  supplements  that  full 
public  apology  that  my  principal,  sir,  this 
gentleman,"  indicating  the  editor  of  the 
"  Pioneer,"  "has  this  mo?'ning  made  in  the 
columns  of  his  paper,  as  you  will  observe," 
producing  a  newspaper.  "  We  have,  sir," 
continued  the  colonel  loftily,  "  only  within 
the  last  twelve  hours  become  aware  of  the 
—  er  —  real  circumstances  of  the  case.  We 
would  regret  that  the  affair  had  gone  so  far 
already,  if  it  had  not  given  us,  sir,  the  oppor- 
tunity of  testifying  to  }  our  gaU?ntry.     "We 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.       157 

do  90  gladly  ;  and  if  —  er  —  er  —  a/cw  years 
later,  Mr.  Ilarcourt,  you  should  ever  need 
—  a  friend  in  any  matter  of  this  kind,  1  am, 
sir,  at  your  service."  John  Milton  gazed 
half  inquiringly,  half  uneasily  at  Jack. 

•'  It 's  all  right,  Milt,"  he  said  sotto  voce. 
"  Shake  hands  all  round  and  let  's  go  to 
breakfast.  And  I  rather  think  that  editor 
wants  to  employ  you  himself." 

It  was  true,  for  when  that  night  he  climbed 
eagerly  the  steep  homeward  hill  he  carried 
with  him  the  written  offer  of  an  engagement 
on  the  "Pioneer."  As  he  entered  the  door 
his  wife's  nurse  and  companion  met  him  with 
a  serious  face.  There  had  been  a  stranjje 
and  unexpected  change  in  the  patient's  con- 
dition, and  the  doctor  had  already  been  there 
twice.  As  he  put  aside  his  coat  and  hat  and 
entered  her  room,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  forever  put  aside  all  else  of  essay  and 
ambition  beyond  those  four  walls.  And 
with  the  thought  a  great  peace  came  upon 
him.  It  seemed  good  to  him  to  live  for  her 
alone. 

It  was  not  for  long.  As  each  monotonous 
day  br(Mig]it  the  morning  mist  and  evening 
fog  regularly  to  the  little  hilltop  where  his 
whole   being  was   now  centred,   she  seemed 


158      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

to  grow  daily  weaker,  and  the  little  circle  of 
her  life  narrowed  day  by  day.  One  morn- 
ing when  the  usual  mist  appeared  to  have 
been  withheld  and  the  sun  had  risen  with 
a  strange  and  cruel  brightness ;  when  the 
waves  danced  and  sparkled  on  the  bay  below 
and  light  glanced  from  dazzling  sails,  and 
even  the  white  tombs  on  Lone  Mountain 
glittered  keenly  ;  when  cheery  voices  hailing 
each  other  on  the  hillside  came  to  him  clearly 
but  without  sense  or  meaning ;  when  earth, 
sky,  and  sea  seemed  quivering  with  life  and 
motion,  —  he  opened  the  door  of  that  one  lit.- 
tle  house  on  which  the  only  shadow  seemed 
to  have  fallen,  and  went  forth  again  into  the 
world  alone. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Mr.  Daniel  Harcourt's  town  mansion 
was  also  on  an  eminence,  but  it  was  that  gen- 
tler acclivity  o£  fashion  known  as  Rincon 
Hill,  and  sunned  itself  on  a  southern  slope  of 
luxury.  It  had  been  described  as  "  princely  " 
and  "  fairy-like,"  by  a  grateful  reporter ; 
tourists  and  travelers  had  sung  its  praises 
in  letters  to  their  friends  and  in  private  rem- 
iniscences, for  it  had  dispensed  hospitality 
to  most  of  the  celebrities  who  had  visited  the 
coast.  Nevertheless  its  charm  was  mainly 
due  to  the  ruling  taste  of  ]\Iiss  Clementina 
Harcourt,  who  had  astonished  her  father  by 
her  marvelous  intuition  of  the  nice  require- 
ments and  elegant  responsibilities  of  their 
position  ;  and  had  thrown  her  mother  into 
the  pained  perplexity  of  a  matronly  hen, 
who,  among  tlie  ducks'  eggs  intrusted  to  her 
fostering  care,  had  unwittingly  hatched  a 
graceful  but  discomposing  cygnet. 

Indeed,  after  holding  out  feebly  against 
the  siege  of   wealth  at  Tasajara  and  San 


160      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

Francisco,  Mrs.  Harcourt  had  abandoned 
herself  hopelessly  to  the  horrors  of  its  inva- 
sion ;  had  allowed  herself  to  be  dragged  from 
her  kitchen  by  her  exultant  daughters  and 
set  up  in  black  silk  in  a  certain  conventional 
respectability  in  the  drawing-room.  Strange 
to  say,  her  commiserating  hospitality,  or 
hos})ital-like  ministration,  not  only  gave  her 
popularity,  but  a  certain  kind  of  distinction. 
An  exaltation  so  sorrowfully  deprecated  by 
its  possessor  was  felt  to  be  a  sign  of  supe- 
riority. She  was  spoken  of  as  "  motherly," 
even  by  those  who  vaguely  knew  that  there 
was  somewhere  a  discarded  son  struggling 
in  poverty  with  a  helpless  wife,  and  that  she 
had  sided  with  her  husband  in  disinheriting 
a  daughter  who  had  married  unwisely.  She 
was  sentimentally  spoken  of  as  a  "  true 
wife,"  while  never  opposing  a  single  mean- 
ness of  her  husband,  suggesting  a  single 
active  virtue,  nor  questioning  her  right  to 
sacrifice  herself  and  her  family  for  his  sake. 
With  notbing  she  cared  to  affect,  she  was 
quite  free  from  affectation,  and  even  the 
critical  Lawrence  Grant  was  struck  with  the 
dignity  wliicli  her  narrow  simplicity,  that 
had  seemed  small  even  in  Sidon,  attained  in 
her  palatial  hall  in  San  Francisco.     It  ap- 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJaRA.      161 

pearcd  to  be  a  perfectly  logical  conclusion 
that  when  such  unaffectedness  and  simplicity 
were  forced  to  assume  a  hostile  attitude  to 
anybody,  the  latter  must  be  to  blame. 

Since  the  festival  of  Tasajara  Mr.  Grant 
had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at  Harcourt's, 
and  was  a  guest  on  the  eve  of  his  departure 
from  San  Francisco.  The  distinguished  po- 
sition of  each  made  their  relations  appear 
quite  natural  without  inciting  gossip  as  to 
any  attraction  in  Harcourt's  daughters.  It 
was  late  one  afternoon  as  he  was  passing  the 
door  of  Harcourt's  study  that  his  host  called 
him  in.  He  found  him  sitting  at  his  desk 
with  some  papers  before  him  and  a  folded 
copy  of  the  "  Clarion."  With  his  back  to 
the  fading  light  of  the  window  his  face  was 
partly  in  shadow. 

''  By  the  way,  Grant,"  he  began,  with  an 
assumption  of  carelessness  somewhat  incon- 
sistent with  the  fact  that  he  had  just  cal^d 
him  in,  "  it  may  be  necessary  for  me  to  pull 
up  those  fellows  who  are  blackguarding  me 
in  the  "  Clarion." 

"  Why,  they  liave  n't  been  saying  any- 
thing new?"  asked  Grant,  laughingly,  as 
he  glanced  towards  the  paper. 

"  No  —  that  is  —  only  a  rehash  of  what 
F— Bret  Harte  v.  22 


162      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

they  said  before,"  returned  Harcourt  with- 
out opening  the  paper, 

"  Well,"  said  Grant  playfully,  "  you  don't 
mind  their  saying  that  you  're  ?iot  the  ori- 
ginal pioneer  of  Tasajara,  for  it 's  true  ;  nor 
that  that  fellow  Lige  Curtis  disappeared  sud- 
denly, for  he  did,  if  I  remember  rightly. 
But  there  's  nothing  in  that  to  invalidate 
your  rights  to  Tasajara,  to  say  nothing  of 
your  five  years'  undisputed  possession." 

"  Of  course  there  's  no  hfjal  question," 
said  Harcourt  almost  sharply.  "  But  as  a 
matter  of  absurd  report,  I  may  want  to  con- 
tradict their  insinuations.  And  you  remem- 
ber all  the  circumstances,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so  !  Why,  my  f^ear  fel- 
low, I  've  told  it  everywhere  !  —  here,  in 
New  York,  Newport,  and  in  London  ;  by 
Jove,  it 's  one  of  my  best  stories  I  How  a 
company  sent  me  out  with  a  surveyor  to 
look  up  a  railroad  and  agricultural  possibili- 
ties in  the  wilderness ;  how  just  as  I  found 
them  —  and  a  rather  big  thing  they  made, 
too  —  I  was  set  afloat  b}^  a  flood  and  a  raft, 
and  drifted  ashore  on  3'our  bank,  and  prac- 
tically demonstrated  to  you  what  you  did  n't 
know  and  did  n't  dare  to  hope  for  —  that 
there  could  be  a  waterway  straight  to  Sid  on 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.      163 

from  the  emharcadero.  I  've  told  what  a 
charming-  evening  we  had  with  you  and  your 
daughters  in  the  old  house,  and  how  1  re- 
turned your  hospitality  by  giving  you  a  tip 
about  the  railroad  ;  and  how  you  slipped 
out  while  we  were  playing  cards,  to  clinch 
the  bargain  for  the  land  with  that  drunken 
fellow,  'Lige  Curtis  "  — 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  interrupted  Harcourt, 
quickly. 

It  was  well  that  the  shadow  hid  from 
Grant  the  expression  of  Ilarcourt's  face,  or 
his  reply  might  have  been  sharper.  As  it 
was,  he  answered  a  little  stiffly  :  — - 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  "  — 

Harcourt  recovered  himself.  "  You  're 
all  wrong !  "  he  said,  "  that  bargain  was 
made  long  hefore  ;  I  never  saw  'Lige  Cur- 
tis after  you  came  to  tlie  house.  It  was 
before  that,  in  the  afternoon,"  he  went  on 
hurriedly,  '"  that  he  was  last  in  my  store. 
I  can  prove  it."  Nevertheless  he  was  so 
shocked  and  indignant  at  being  confronted 
in  his  own  suppressions  and  falsehoods  by 
an  even  greater  and  more  astounding  mis- 
coiiception  of  fact,  that  for  a  moment  he  felt 
helpless.  What,  he  reflected,  if  it  were  al- 
leg(id  that  "Li<2e   had  returned  ajrain  after 


164      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

the  loafers  had  gone,  or  had  neve\r  left  the 
store  as  had  been  said  ?  Nonsense  !  There 
was  John  Milton,  who  had  been  there  read- 
ing all  the  time,  and  who  could  disprove 
it.  Yes,  but  John  Milton  was  his  discarded 
son,  —  his  enemy,  —  ^^^rhaps  even  his  very 
slanderer ! 

"  But,"  said  Grant  quietly,  "  don't  you 
remember  that  your  daughter  Euphemia 
said  something  that  evening  about  the  land 
Lige  had  offered  you,  and  you  sna])ped  up 
the  young  lady  rather  sharply  for  letting  out 
secrets,  and  then  you  went  out?  At  least 
that 's  my  impression." 

It  was,  however,  more  than  an  impres- 
sion ;  with  Grant's  scientific  memory  for 
characteristic  details  he  had  noticed  that 
particular  circumstance  as  part  of  the  social 
phenomena. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Phemie  said,^^  re- 
turned Harcourt,  impatiently.  ''  I  hyiorv 
there  was  no  offer  pending  ;  the  land  had 
been  sold  to  me  before  I  ever  saw  you. 
AVhy  —  you  must  have  thouglit  me  up  to 
pretty  sharp  practice  witli  Curtis  —  eh  ?  " 
he  added,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

Grant  smiled  ;  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
hear  of  such  sharp  practice  among  his  busi- 


A   FIRST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA.       165 

ness  acquaintance,  although  he  himself  by- 
nature  and  profession  was  incapable  of  it, 
but  he  had  not  deemed  Harcourt  nore  scru- 
])ulous  than  others.  "  Perhaps  so,*'  he  said 
lightly,  "  but  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  ask 
me  to  spoil  my  reputation  as  a  raconteur 
for  the  sake  of  a  mere  fact  or  two.  I  assure 
you  it 's  a  mighty  taking  story  as  /  tell  it 
—  and  it  don't  hurt  you  in  a  business  way. 
You  're  the  hero  of  it  —  hang  it  all !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harcourt,  without  noticing 
Grant's  half  cynical  superiority,  but  you  '11 
oblige  me  if  you  won't  tell  it  again  in  that 
locnj.  There  are  men  here  mean  enough  to 
make  the  worst  of  it.  It 's  nothing  to  me, 
of  course,  but  my  family  —  the  girls,  you 
know  —  are  rather  sensitive." 

"  I  had  no  idea  they  even  knew  it,  — much 
less  cared  for  it,"  said  Grant,  with  sudden 
seriousness.  "  I  dare  say  if  those  fellows  in 
the  "  Clarion  "  knew  that  they  were  annoy- 
ing the  ladies  they  'd  drop  it.  Who  's  the 
editor  ?  Look  here  —  leave  it  to  me  ;  I  '11 
look  into  it.  Better  tliat  you  should  n't  ap- 
pear in  the  matter  at  all." 

"  You  understand  that  if  it  was  a  really 
serious  matter,  Grant,"  said  Harcourt  with  a 
slight  attitude,  "  1  should  n't  allow  any  one 
to  take  my  place." 


166       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  there  '11  be  nobody 
'  called  out  '  and  no  '  sliootmg  at  sight,' 
whatever  is  the  result  of  my  interference," 
returned  Grant,  lightly.  "  It  '11  be  all 
right."  He  was  quite  aware  of  the  power 
of  his  own  independent  position  and  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  often  appealed  to  before  in 
delicate  arbitration. 

Harcourt  was  equally  conscious  of  this, 
but  by  a  strange  inconsistency  now  felt  re- 
lieved at  the  coolness  with  which  Grant  had 
accepted  the  misconception  which  had  at  first 
seemed  so  dangerous.  If  he  were  ready  to 
condone  what  he  thought  was  sharp  jiractice, 
he  covdd  not  be  less  lenient  with  the  real 
facts  that  might  come  out,  —  of  course  al- 
ways excepting  that  interpolated  considera- 
tion in  the  bill  of  sale,  which,  however,  no 
one  but  the  missing  Curtis  could  ever  dis- 
cover. The  fact  that  a  man  of  Grant's  se- 
cure position  had  interested  himself  in  this 
matter  would  secure  him  from  the  working 
of  that  personal  vulgar  jealousy  wliich  his 
humbler  antecedents  had  provoked.  And 
if,  as  he  fancied.  Grant  really  cared  for 
Clementina  — 

"  As  you  like,"  ho  said,  with  half-affected 
lightness,    ''and  now  let  us    talk  of   some- 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       167 

thinir  else.  Clementina  lias  been  tliinkin<r 
of  getting  up  a  riding  party  to  San  Mateo 
for  Mrs.  Ashwood.  We  must  show  them 
some  civility,  and  that  Boston  brother  of 
hers,  Mr.  Shipley,  will  have  to  be  invited 
also.  I  can't  get  away,  and  my  wife,  of 
course,  will  only  be  able  to  join  them  at  San 
Mateo  in  the  carriage.  I  reckon  it  would 
be  easier  for  Clementina  if  you  took  my 
place,  and  helped  her  look  after  the  riding 
party.  It  will  need  a  man,  and  I  think 
she  'd  prefer  you  —  as  you  know  she 's  rather 
particular  —  unless,  of  course,  you  'd  be 
wanted  for  Mrs.  Ashwood  or  Phemie,  or 
somebody  else." 

From  his  shadowed  corner  he  could  see 
that  a  pleasant  light  had  sprung  into  Grant's 
eyes,  although  his  reply  was  in  his  ordinary 
easy  banter.  "  I  shall  be  only  too  glad 
to  act  as  Miss  Clementina's  vnquero^  and 
lasso  her  runaways,  or  keep  stragglers  in 
the  road." 

There  seemed  to  be  small  necessity,  how- 
ever, for  this  active  coo})eration,  for  when 
the  cheerful  cavalcade  started  from  the  house 
a  few  mornings  later,  Mr.  La^Tcnce  Grant's 
onerous  duties  seemed  to  bo  simply  confined 
to  those  of  an  ordinary  cavalier  at  the  side 


168      A  FJBST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

of  Miss  Clementina,  a  few  paces  in  the  rear 
of  the  party.  But  this  safe  distance  gave 
them  the  opportunity  of  conversing  without 
being  overheard,  —  an  apparently  discreet 
precaution. 

"  Your  father  was  so  exceedingly  affable 
to  me  the  other  day  that  if  I  had  n't  given 
you  my  promise  to  say  nothing,  I  think  I 
would  have  fallen  on  my  knees  to  him  then 
and  there,  revealed  my  feelings,  asked  for 
your  hand  and  his  blessing  —  or  whatever 
one  does  at  such  a  time.  But  how  long  do 
you  intend  to  keep  me  in  this  suspense  ?  " 

Clementina  turned  her  clear  eyes  half  ab- 
stractedly upon  him,  as  if  imperfectly  recall- 
ing some  forgotten  situation.  "  You  for- 
get," she  said,  "  that  part  of  your  promise 
was  that  you  would  n't  even  speak  of  it  to 
me  again  without  my  permission." 

"  But  my  time  is  so  short  now.  Give  me 
some  definite  hope  before  I  go.  Let  me  be- 
lieve that  when  we  meet  in  New  York  "  — 

"  You  will  find  me  just  the  same  as  now ! 
Yes,  I  think  I  can  promise  that.  Let  that 
suffice.  You  said  the  other  day  you  liked 
me  because  I  had  not  clianged  for  five  years. 
You  can  surely  trust  that  I  will  not  alter  in 
as  many  months." 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAliA.       169 

"  If  I  only  knew  "  — 

"  .Vh,  if  /  only  knew,  —  if  roe  all  only 
knew.  13ut  we  don't.  Come,  Mr.  Grant,  let 
it  rest  as  it  is.  Unless  you  want  to  go  still 
further  back  and  have  it  as  it  inas^  at  Sidon. 
There  I  think  you  fancied  Euphemia  most." 

"  Clementina !  " 

"  That  is  my  name,  and  those  people  ahead 
of  us  know  it  already." 

"You  are  called  Clementina^ — but  you 
are  not  merciful !  " 

"  You  are  very  wrong,  for  you  might  see 
that  Mr.  Shipley  has  twice  checked  his  horse 
that  he  might  hear  what  you  are  saying,  and 
Phemie  is  always  showing  Mrs.  Ashwood 
something  in  the  landscape  behind  us." 

All  this  was  the  more  hopeless  and  exas- 
perating to  Grant  since  in  the  young  girl's 
speech  and  manner  there  was  not  the  slight- 
est trace  of  co(pietry  or  playfulness.  He 
could  not  help  saying  a  little  bitterly :  "  I 
don't  think  that  any  one  would  imagine 
from  your  manner  that  you  were  receiving 
a  declaration." 

"  But  they  miglit  imagine  from  yours  that 
you  had  the  right  to  (|uarrel  with  me,  — 
which  would  be  worse." 

"  We  cannot  part  like  this  !  It  is  too  cruel 
to  mo." 


170      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

"  AVe  cannot  part  otherwise  without  the 
risk  of  greater  cruelty." 

"  But  say  at  least,  Clementina,  that  I  have 
no  rival.  There  is  no  other  more  favored 
suitor  ?  " 

"  That  is  so  like  a  man  —  and  yet  so  un- 
like the  proud  one  I  believed  you  to  be. 
Why  should  a  man  like  you  even  consider 
such  a  possibility  ?  If  I  were  a  man  I  know 
/could  n't."  She  turned  upon  him  a  glance 
so  clear  and  untroubled  by  either  conscious 
vanity  or  evasion  that  he  was  hoj^elessly  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  of  her  statement,  and  she 
went  on  in  a  slightly  lowered  tone,  "  You 
have  no  right  to  ask  me  such  a  question,  — 
but  perhaps  for  that  reason  I  am  willing  to 
answer  you.  There  is  none.  Hush  !  For  a 
good  rider  you  are  setting  a  poor  example  to 
the  others,  by  crowding  me  towards  the  bank. 
Go  forward  and  talk  to  Phemie,  and  tell  her 
not  to  worry  Mrs.  Ashwood's  horse  nor  race 
with  her  ;  I  don't  think  he  's  quite  safe,  and 
Mrs.  Ashwood  is  n't  accustomed  to  using 
the  Spanish  bit.  I  suppose  I  must  say  some- 
thing to  ]\Ir.  Shipley,  who  does  n't  seem  to 
understand  that  /'m  acting  as  chaperon,  and 
Tjoii  as  captain  of  the  party." 

She  cantered  forward  as  she  spoke,  and 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       171 

Grant  was  obliged  to  join  her  sister,  who, 
mounted  on  a  powerful  roan,  was  mischiev- 
ously exciting  a  beautiful  quaker-colored 
mustang  ridden  by  Mrs.  Ashwood,  already 
irritated  by  the  unfamiliar  pressure  of  the 
Eastern  woman's  hand  upon  his  bit.  The 
thick  dust  which  had  forced  the  party  of 
twenty  to  close  vip  in  two  solid  files  across 
the  road  compelled  them  at  the  first  opening 
in  the  roadside  fence  to  take  the  field  in  a 
straggling  gallop.  Grant,  eager  to  escape 
from  his  own  discontented  self  by  doing 
something  for  others,  reined  in  beside  Eu- 
phemia  and  the  fair  stranger. 

"  Let  me  take  your  place  until  Mrs. 
Ashwood's  horse  is  quieted,"  he  half  whis- 
pered to  Euphemia. 

"  Thank  you,  —  and  I  suppose  it  does  not 
make  any  matter  to  Clem  who  quiets  mine," 
she  said,  with  provoking  eyes  and  a  toss  of 
her  head  worthy  of  the  spirited  animal  she 
was  riding. 

"  She  thinks  you  quite  capable  of  man- 
aging yourself  and  even  others,"  he  re- 
plied with  a  playful  glance  at  Shipley,  who 
was  ritling  somewhat  stiffly  on  the  other 
side. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure,"  retorted  Phemie  with 


172       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAHA. 

another  dangerous  look  ;  "  I  may  give  you 
trouble  yet." 

They  were  approaching  the  first  undula- 
tion of  the  russet  plain  they  had  emerged 
upon,  —  an  umbrageous  slope  that  seemed 
suddenly  to  diverge  in  two  defiles  among  the 
shaded  hills.  Grant  had  given  a  few  words  of 
practical  advice  to  Mrs.  Ashwood,  and  shown 
her  how  to  guide  her  mustang  by  the  merest 
caressing  touch  of  the  rein  upon  its  sensi- 
tive neck.  He  had  not  been  sympathetically 
inclined  towards  the  fair  stranger,  a  rich  and 
still  youthful  widow,  although  he  could  not 
deny  her  unquestioned  good  breeding,  mental 
refinement,  and  a  certain  languorous  thought- 
fulness  that  was  almost  melancholy,  which 
accented  her  blonde  delicacy.  But  he  had 
noticed  that  her  manner  was  politely  reserved 
and  slightly  constrained  towards  the  Har- 
courts,  and  he  had  already  resented  it  with  a 
lover's  instinctive  loyalty.  He  had  at  first 
attributed  it  to  a  want  of  sympathy  between 
Mrs.  Ashwood's  more  intellectual  sentimen- 
talities and  the  Harcourts'  undeniable  lack 
of  any  sentiment  whatever.  But  there  was 
evidently  some  other  innate  antagonism.  He 
was  very  polite  to  Mrs.  Ashwood  :  she  re- 
sponded with  a  gentlewoman's  courtesy,  and, 


A  FIEST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       173 

he  was  forced  to  admit,  even  a  broader  com- 
prehension of  his  own  merits  than  the  Ilar- 
court  girls  had  ever  shown,  but  he  covdd  still 
detect  that  she  was  not  in  accord  with  the 
party. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  like  California, 
Mrs.  Ashwood  ?  "  he  said  pleasantly.  "  You 
perhaps  find  the  life  here  too  unrestrained 
and  unconventional?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  quick  astonishment. 
"Are  you  quite  sincere  ?  Why,  it  strikes 
me  that  this  is  just  what  it  is  not.  And  I 
have  so  longed  for  something  quite  different. 
From  what  I  have  been  told  about  the 
originality  and  adventure  of  everything  here, 
and  your  independence  of  old  social  forms 
and  customs,  I  am  afraid  I  expected  the  op- 
posite of  what  I  've  seen.  Why,  this  very 
party  —  except  that  the  ladies  are  prettier 
and  more  expensively  gotten  up  —  is  like 
any  party  that  might  have  ridden  out  at 
Saratoga  or  New  York." 

"  And  as  stupid,  you  would  say." 

"  As  conrentlondJ,  Mr.  Grant ;  always  ex- 
cepting this  lovely  creature  beneath  me, 
whom  I  can't  make  out  and  who  does  n't 
seem  to  care  that  I  should.  There  !  look  !  I 
told  you  so !  " 


17-4      A   FIliST   FAMILY   OF   TAHAJARA. 

Her  mustang  had  suddenly  bounded  for- 
ward ;  but  as  Grant  followed  he  could  see 
that  the  cause  was  the  example  of  Phemie, 
who  had,  in  some  mad  freak,  dashed  out  in 
a  frantic  gallop.  A  half-dozen  of  the  younger 
people  hilariously  accepted  the  challenge  ; 
the  excitement  was  communicated  to  the 
others,  until  the  whole  cavalcade  was  sweep- 
ing down  the  slope.  Grant  was  still  at  Mrs. 
Asbwood's  side,  restraining  her  mustang  and 
his  own  impatient  horse  when  ('lementina 
joined  them.  "  Phemie's  mare  has  really 
bolted,  I  fear,"  she  said  in  a  quick  w^his- 
per,  "  ride  on,  and  never  mind  us."  Grant 
looked  quickly  ahead;  Phemie's  roan,  excited 
by  the  shouts  behind  her  and  to  all  appear- 
ance ungovernable,  was  fast  disapjieariug 
with  her  rider.  Without  a  word,  trusting 
to  his  own  good  horsemanship  and  better 
knowledge  of  the  ground,  he  darted  out  of 
the  cavalcade  to  overtake  her. 

Jjut  the  unfortunate  residt  of  this  was  to 
give  further  impulse  to  the  now  racing  horses 
as  they  approached  a  point  where  the  slope 
tenninated  in  two  diverging  canons.  Mrs. 
Ashwood  gave  a  sharp  pull  upon  her  bit. 
To  her  consternation  the  mustang  stopped 
short    almost  instantly,  —  planting    his  two 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.      175 

fore  feet  rigidly  in  the  dust  and  even  sliding 
forward  with  the  impetus.  Had  her  seat 
been  less  firm  she  might  have  been  thrown, 
but  she  recovered  herself,  although  in  doing 
so  she  still  bore  upon  the  bit,  when  to  her 
astonishment  the  mustang  deliberately  stiff- 
ened himself  as  if  for  a  shock,  and  then  began 
to  back  slowly,  quivering  with  excitement. 
She  did  not  know  that  her  native-bred  ani- 
mal fondly  believed  that  he  was  participating 
in  a  rodco^  and  that  to  his  equine  intel- 
ligence his  fair  mistress  had  just  lassoed 
something !  In  vain  she  urged  him  for- 
ward ;  he  still  waited  for  the  shock  !  When 
the  cloud  of  dust  in  which  she  had  been  en- 
wrapped drifted  away,  she  saw  toiler  amaze- 
ment that  she  was  alone.  The  entire  party 
had  disappeared  into  one  of  the  caiions,  — ■ 
but  which  one  she  could  not  tell ! 

When  she  succeeded  at  last  in  urging  her 
mustang  forward  again  she  determined  to 
take  the  right-hand  canon  and  trust  to  being 
either  met  or  overtaken.  A  more  practical 
and  less  adventurous  nature  would  have 
waited  at  the  ])oint  of  divergence  for  the  re- 
turn of  some  of  the  party,  but  jVIrs.  Ash- 
wood  was,  in  truth,  not  sorry  to  be  left  to 
herself  and  the  novel  scenery  for  a  while, 


176      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA. 

and  she  had  no  doubt  but  she  would  eventu- 
ally find  her  way  to  the  hotel  at  San  Mateo, 
which  could  not  be  far  away,  in  time  for 
luncheon. 

The  road  was  still  well  defined,  although 
it  presently  began  to  wind  between  ascend- 
ing ranks  of  pines  and  larches  that  marked 
the  terraces  of  hills,  so  high  that  she  won- 
dered she  had  not  noticed  them  from  the 
plains.  An  unmistakaUe  suggestion  of 
some  haunting  primeval  solitude,  a  sense  of 
the  hushed  and  mysterious  proximity  of 
a  nature  she  had  never  known  before,  the 
strange  half -intoxicating  breath  of  unsunned 
foliage  and  untrodden  grasses  and  herbs,  all 
combined  to  exalt  her  as  she  cantered  for- 
ward. Even  her  horse  seemed  to  have  ac- 
quired an  intelligent  liberty,  or  rather  to 
have  established  a  sympathy  with  her  in  his 
needs  and  her  own  longings  ;  instinctively 
she  no  longer  pulled  him  with  the  curb  ;  the 
reins  hung  loosely  on  his  self-arched  and  un- 
fettered neck ;  secure  in  this  loneliness  slie 
found  herself  even  talking  to  him  with  bar- 
baric freedom.  As  she  went  on,  the  vague 
hush  of  all  things  animate  and  inanimate 
around  her  seemed  to  tliicken,  until  she  un- 
consciously iialted  before  a  dim  and  pillared 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       177 

wood,  aud  a  vast  and  lieatliless  opening  on 
whose  mute  brown  lips  Nature  seemed  to 
have  laid  the  finger  of  silence.  She  forgot 
the  party  she  had  left,  she  forgot  the  lun- 
cheon she  was  going  to  ;  more  important 
still  slie  forgot  that  she  had  already  left  the 
traveled  track  far  behind  her,  and,  tremu- 
lous with  anticipation,  rode  timidly  into 
that  arch  of  shadow. 

As  her  horse's  hoofs  fell  noiselessly  on 
the  elastic  moss-carpeted  aisle  she  forgot 
even  more  than  that.  She  forgot  the  arti- 
ficial stimulus  and  excitement  of  the  life  she 
had  been  leading  so  long  ;  she  forgot  the 
small  meannesses  and  smaller  worries  of  her 
well-to-do  experiences  ;  she  forgot  herself,  — 
rather  she  regained  a  self  she  had  long  for- 
gotten. For  in  the  sweet  seclusion  of  this 
half  darkened  sanctuary  the  clinging  frip- 
peries of  her  past  slipped  from  her  as  a  taw- 
dry garment.  The  petted,  spoiled,  and  vap- 
idly precocious  gii'Uiood  which  had  merged 
into  a  womanhood  of  aimless  triumphs  and 
meaner  ambitions  ;  the  worldly  but  miser- 
able triumph  of  a  marriage  that  had  left  her 
delicacy  abused  and  her  heart  sick  and  un- 
satisiied  ;  the  wifehood  without  home,  seclu- 
sion, or   maternity;  the  widowhood  that  at 


178      A  FJliHT   FAMILY   OF  TASAJAEA. 

last  brought  relief,  but  with  it  the  conscious- 
ness of  ho2)elessly  wasted  youth,  —  all  this 
seemed  to  drop  from  her  here  as  lightly  as  the 
winged  needles  or  noiseless  withered  spray 
from  the  dim  gray  vault  above  her  head. 
In  the  sovereign  balm  of  that  woodland 
breath  her  better  spirit  was  restored  ;  some- 
where in  these  wholesome  shades  seemed  to 
still  lurk  what  should  have  been  her  inno- 
cent and  nymph-like  youth,  and  to  come  out 
once  more  and  greet  her.  Old  songs  she  had 
forgotten,  or  whose  music  had  failed  in  the 
discords  of  her  frivolous  life,  sang  themselves 
to  her  again  in  that  sweet,  grave  silence ; 
girlish  dreams  that  she  had  foolishly  been 
ashamed  of,  or  had  put  away  with  her  child- 
ish toys,  stole  back  to  her  once  more  and 
became  real  in  this  tender  twilight ;  old 
fancies,  old  fragments  of  verse  and  childish 
lore,  grew  palpable  and  moved  faintly  be- 
fore her.  The  boyish  prince  who  should 
have  come  was  there  ;  the  babe  that  should 
have  been  hers  was  there !  —  she  stopped 
suddenly  with  flaming  eyes  and  indignant 
color.  For  it  appeared  that  a  man  was 
there  too,  and  had  just  risen  from  the  fallen 
tree  where  he  had  been  sitting. 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

She  had  so  far  forgotten  herself  in  yield- 
ing to  the  spell  of  the  place,  and  in  the  rev- 
elation of  her  naked  soul  and  inner  nature, 
that  it  was  with  something  of  the  instinct  of 
outraged  modesty  that  she  seemed  to  shrink 
before  this  apparition  of  the  outer  world  and 
outer  w^orldliness.  In  an  instant  the  nearer 
past  returned ;  she  remembered  where  she 
was,  how  she  luid  come  there,  from  whom  she 
had  come,  and  to  whom  she  was  returning. 
She  could  see  that  she  had  not  only  aiudessly 
wandurt'd  from  the  world  but  from  the  road  ; 
and  for  that  instant  she  hated  this  man  who 
had  reminded  her  of  it,  even  while  she  knew 
she  must  ask  his  assistance.  It  relieved  her 
slightly  to  observe  that  he  seemed  as  dis- 
turbed and  impatient  as  herself,  and  as  he 
took  a  pencil  from  between  his  lips  and  re- 
turned it  to  his  pocket  he  scarcely  looked  at 
her. 

But  with  her  return  to  tlie  world  of  con- 
venances   came    its    repression,  and    with  a 


180       A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

gentlewoman's  ease  and  modulated  voice  slie 
leaned  over  her  mustang's  neck  and  said  :  "  I 
have  strayed  from  my  party  and  am  afraid 
I  have  lost  my  way.  AVe  were  going  to  the 
hotel  at  San  Mateo.  Would  you  be  kind 
enough  to  direct  nie  there,  or  show  me  how 
I  can  regain  the  road  by  which  I  came  ?  " 

Her  voice  and  manner  were  quite  enough 
to  arrest  him  where  he  stood  with  a  pleased 
surprise  in  his  fresh  and  ingenuous  face. 
She  looked  at  him  more  closely.  lie  was,  in 
spite  of  his  long  silken  mustache,  so  absurdly 
young  ;  he  might,  in  spite  of  that  youth, 
be  so  absurdly  man-like  I  What  was  he  do- 
ing there  ?  Was  he  a  farmer's  son,  an  art- 
ist, a  surveyor,  or  a  city  clerk  out  for  a  hol- 
iday ?  Was  there  perhaps  a  youthful  female 
of  his  species  somewhere  for  whom  he  was 
waiting  and  upon  whose  tryst  she  was  now 
breaking  ?  Was  he  —  terrible  thought !  — 
the  outlying  picket  of  some  family  picnic  ? 
His  dress,  neat,  simple,  free  from  ostenta- 
tious ornament,  betrayed  nothing.  She 
waited  for  his  voice. 

"  Oh,  you  have  left  San  Mateo  miles  away 
to  the  right,"  he  said  with  quick  youthful 
sympathy,  "  at  least  five  miles  I  Where  did 
you  leave  your  party  ?  " 


A  FlIiST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA.      181 

His  voice  was  winning,  and  even  refined, 
she  thought.  She  answered  it  quite  spon- 
taneously :  "  At  a  fork  of  two  roads.  I  see 
now  I  took  the  wrong  turning." 

"  Yes,  you  took  the  road  to  Crystal 
Spring.  It  's  just  down  there  in  the  valley, 
not  more  than  a  mile.  You  'd  have  been  there 
now  if  you  had  n't  turned  oft'  at  the  woods." 

"  I  could  n't  help  it,  it  was  so  beautiful." 

"  Is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Perfect." 

"  And  such  shadows,  and  such  intensity 
of  color." 

"  Wonderful  !  —  and  all  along  the  ridge, 
looking  down  that  defile  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  that  point  where  it  seems  as  if 
you  had  only  to  stretch  out  your  hand  to 
pick  a  manzanita  berry  from  the  other  side 
of  the  canon,  half  a  mile  across  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  that  first  glimpse  of  the  val- 
ley through  the  Gothic  gateway  of  rocks  !  " 

"  And  the  color  of  those  rocks,  —  cinna- 
mon and  bronze  with  the  light  green  of  the 
Yerha  hucna  vine  splashing  over  them." 

"  Yes,  but  for  color  (//(/  you  notice  that 
hillside  of  yellow  poppies  pouring  down  into 
the  valley  like  a  golden  Niagara?  " 

"  Certainly,  —  and  the  perfect  clearness  of 
everything." 


182      A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA. 

"  And  yet  such  complete  silence  and  re- 
pose !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  " 

"  Ah,  yes !  " 

They  were  both  gravely  nodding  and 
shaking  their  heads  with  sparkling  eyes  and 
brightened  color,  looking  not  at  each  other 
but  at  the  far  landscape  vignetted  through  a 
lozenge-shaped  wind  opening  in  the  trees. 
Suddenly  Mrs.  Ashwood  straightened  her- 
self in  the  saddle,  looked  grave,  lifted  the 
reins  and  apparently  the  ten  years  with 
them  that  had  dropped  from  her.  But  she 
said  in  her  easiest  well-bred  tones,  and  a 
half  sigh,  "  Then  I  must  take  the  road  back 
again  to  where  it  forks  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  you  can  go  by  Crystal  Spring. 
It's  no  fvirther,  and  I  '11  show  you  the  way. 
But  you  'd  better  stop  and  rest  yourself  and 
your  horse  for  a  little  while  at  the  Springs 
Hotel.  It 's  a  very  nice  place.  Many  peo- 
ple ride  there  from  San  Francisco  to  lunch- 
eon and  return.  I  wonder  that  your  party 
did  n't  prefer  it ;  and  if  they  are  looking  for 
you,  —  as  they  surely  must  be,"  he  said,  as  if 
with  a  sudden  conception  of  her  importance, 
"  they  '11  come  there  when  they  find  you  're 
not  at  San  Mateo." 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       183 

This  seemed  reasonable,  although  the  pro- 
cess of  being  "fetched  "  and  taking  the 
five  miles  ride,  which  she  had  enjoyed  so 
mueli  alone,  in  company  was  not  attractive. 
'"  Could  n't  I  go  on  at  once  ?  "  she  said  im- 
pulsively. 

"  You  would  meet  them  sooner,"  he  said 
thoughtfully. 

This  was  quite  enough  for  Mrs.  Ashwood. 
"•  I  think  I  '11  rest  this  poor  horse,  who  is 
really  tired,"  she  said  with  charming  hypoc- 
risy, "  and  stop  at  the  hotel." 

She  saw  his  face  brighten.  Perhaps  he 
was  the  son  of  the  hotel  proprietor,  or  a 
youthful  partner  himself.  "  1  suppose  you 
live  here  ?  "  she  suggested  gently.  "  You 
seem  to  know  the  place  so  well." 

"  No,"  he  returned  quickly  ;  "  I  only  run 
down  hero  from  San  Francisco  when  I  can 
got  a  day  off." 

A  day  off  !  He  was  in  some  regular  em- 
ployment. But  he  continued  :  "  And  I  used 
to  go  to  boarding-school  near  here,  and  know 
all  these  woods  well." 

lie  must  be  a  native  !  How  odd  !  She  had 
not  conceived  that  tliere  might  be  any  other 
population  here  tlian  the  immigrants ;  per- 
haps that  was  what  made  him  so  interesting 


184      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   T  AS  A  JAR  A. 

and  different  from  the  others.  "  Then  your 
father  and  mother  live  here  ?  "  she  said. 

His  frank  face,  incapable  of  disguise, 
changed  suddenly.  "  No,"  he  said  simply, 
but  without  any  trace  of  awkwardness. 
Then  after  a  slight  pause  he  laid  his  hand 
—  she  noticed  it  was  white  and  well  kept  — 
on  her  mustang's  neck,  and  said,  "If  —  if 
you  care  to  trust  yourself  to  me,  I  could 
lead  you  and  your  horse  down  a  trail  into  the 
valley  that  is  at  least  a  third  of  the  distance 
shorter.  It  would  save  you  going  back  to 
the  regular  road,  and  there  are  one  or  two 
lovely  views  that  I  could  show  you.  I 
should  be  so  pleased,  if  it  would  not  trouble 
you.  There  's  a  steep  place  or  two  —  but  I 
think  there  's  no  danger." 

"  I  shall  not  be  afraid." 

She  smiled  so  graciously,  and,  as  she  fully 
believed,  maternally,  that  he  looked  at  her 
the  second  time.  To  his  first  hurried  im- 
pression of  her  as  an  elegant  and  delicately 
nurtured  woman  —  one  of  the  class  of  distin- 
guished tourists  that  fashion  was  beginning 
to  send  thither  — -  he  had  now  to  add  that 
she  had  a  quantity  of  fine  silken-spun  light 
hair  gathered  in  a  heavy  braid  beneath  her 
gray    hat ;    that   her    mouth  was  very  deli- 


A  FIRST  FA.yflLY    OF   TASAJARA.       185 

cately  lipped  and  beautifully  sensitive  ;  that 
her  soft  skin,  although  just  then  touched 
with  excitement,  was  a  pale  faded  velvet, 
and  seemed  to  be  worn  with  ennui  rather 
than  experience  ;  that  her  eyes  were  hidden 
behind  a  strip  of  gray  veil  whence  only  a 
faint  glow  was  discernible.  To  this  must 
still  be  added  a  poetic  fancy  all  his  own 
that,  as  she  sat  there,  with  the  skirt  of  her 
gray  habit  falling  from  her  long  bodiced 
waist  over  the  mustang's  fawn  -  colored 
flanks,  and  with  her  slim  gauntleted  hands 
lightly  swaying  the  reins,  she  looked  like 
Queen  Guinevere  in  the  forest.  Xot  that  he 
particularly  fancied  Queen  Guinevere,  or 
that  he  at  all  imagined  himself  Launcelot, 
but  it  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  sugges- 
tion-haunted brain  of  John  Milton  Harcourt, 
whom  the  astute  reader  has  of  course  long 
since  recognized. 

Preceding  her  through  the  soft  carpeted 
vault  with  a  woodman's  instinct,  —  for  there 
was  apparently  no  trail  to  be  seen,  —  the 
soft  inner  twilight  began  to  give  way  to  the 
outer  stronger  day,  and  presently  she  was 
startled  to  see  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky  be- 
fore her  on  apparently  the  same  level  as  the 
brown  pine-tessellated  floor  she  was  treading. 


186      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

Not  only  did  this  show  her  that  she  was 
crossing  a  ridge  of  the  upland,  but  a  few 
moments  later  she  had  passed  beyond  the 
woods  to  a  golden  hillside  that  sloped  to- 
wards a  leafy,  sheltered,  and  exquisitely- 
proportioned  valley.  A  tiny  but  pictur- 
esque tower,  and  a  few  straggling  roofs  and 
gables,  the  flashing  of  a  crystal  stream 
through  the  leaves,  and  a  narrow  v,'hite  rib- 
bon of  road  winding  behind  it  indicated  the 
hostehy  they  were  seeking.  So  peaceful 
and  unfrequented  it  looked,  nestling  be- 
tween the  hills,  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  had 
discovered  it. 

With  his  hand  at  times  upon  the  bridle, 
at  others  merely  caressing  her  mustang's 
neck,  he  led  the  way ;  there  were  a  few 
breathless  places  where  the  crown  of  his 
straw  hat  appeared  between  her  horse's  reins, 
and  again  when  she  seemed  almost  slipping 
over  on  his  shoulder,  but  they  were  passed 
with  such  frank  fearlessness  and  invincible 
youthful  confidence  on  the  part  of  her  escort 
that  she  felt  no  timidity.  There  were  mo- 
ments when  a  bit  of  the  charmed  landscape 
unfolding  before  them  overpowered  them 
both,  and  they  halted  to  gaze,  —  sometimes 
without  a  word,  or  only  a  significant  gesture 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA.      187 

of  sympathy  and  attention.  At  one  of  those 
artistic  manifestations  Mrs.  Ashwood  laid 
her  slim  gloved  fingers  lightly  but  unwit- 
tingly on  John  Milton's  arm,  and  withdrew 
them,  however,  with  a  quick  girlish  apology 
and  a  foolish  color  which  annoyed  her  more 
than  the  appearance  of  familiarity.  But 
they  were  now  getting  well  down  into  the 
valley  ;  the  court  of  the  little  hotel  was  al- 
ready opening  before  them  ;  their  unconven- 
tional relations  in  the  idyllic  world  above  had 
changed ;  the  new  one  required  some  deli- 
cacy of  handling,  and  she  had  an  idea  that 
even  the  simplicity  of  the  young  stranger 
might  be  confusing. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  continue  to  act  as  my 
escort,"  she  said,  laughingly.  "  I  am  Mrs. 
Ashwood  of  Philadelphia,  visiting  San 
Francisco  with  my  sister  and  brother,  who 
are,  I  am  afraid,  even  now  hopelessly  wait- 
ing luncheon  for  mc  at  San  Alateo.  But  as 
there  seems  to  be  no  prospect  of  my  joining 
them  in  time,  I  hope  yoix  will  be  able  to 
give  me  the  pleasure  of  your  company,  with 
whatever  they  may  give  us  here  in  the  way 
of  refreslmient.'" 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy,"  returned  John 
Milton   with    unmistakable   candor ;     "  but 


188      A   FIRST  FA^fILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

perhaps  some  of  your  friends  will  be  arriving 
in  quest  of  you,  if  they  are  not  already  here." 

"  Then  they  will  join  us  or  wait,"  said 
Mrs.  Ashwood  incisively,  with  her  first  ex- 
hibition of  the  imperiousness  of  a  rich  and 
pretty  woman.  Perhaps  she  was  a  little  an- 
noyed that  her  elaborate  introduction  of 
herself  had  produced  no  reciprocal  disclos- 
ure by  her  companion.  "  Will  you  please 
send  the  landlord  to  rae?  "  she  added. 

John  Milton  disappeared  in  the  hotel  as 
she  cantered  to  the  porch.  In  another  mo- 
ment she  was  giving  the  landlord  her  orders 
with  the  easy  confidence  of  one  who  knew 
herself  only  as  an  always  welcome  and 
highly  privileged  guest,  which  was  not  with- 
out its  effect.  "  And,"  she  added  carelessly, 
"  when  everything  is  ready  you  will  please 
tell  —  Mr."  — 

"  Harcourt,"     suggested     the     landlord 
promptly. 

Mrs.  Ashwood 's  perfectly  trained  face 
gave  not  the  slightest  sign  of  the  surprise 
that  had  overtaken  her.  "  Of  course,  — 
Mr.  Harcourt." 

"  You  know  he  's  the  son  of  the  million- 
aire," continued  tlie  landlord,  not  at  all 
unwilling  to  display  the  importan'^e  of  the 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.      189 

habitues  of  Crystal  Spring,  "  though  they  've 
quarreled  and  don't  get  on  together." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  lady  languidly,  "  and, 
if  any  one  comes  here  for  me,  ask  them  to 
wait  in  the  parlor  until  I  come." 

Then,  submitting  herself  and  her  dusty 
habit  to  the  awkward  ministration  of  the 
Irish  chambermaid,  she  was  quite  thrilled 
with  a  delightful  curiosity.  She  vaguely 
remembered  that  she  had  heard  something  of 
the  Ilarcourt  family  discord,  —  but  that  was 
the  divorced  daughter  surely!  And  this 
young  man  was  Ilarcourt's  son,  and  they  had 
quarreled  I  A  quarrel  with  a  frank,  open, 
ingenuous  fellow  like  that  —  a  mere  boy  — 
could  only  be  the  father's  fault.  Luckily 
she  had  never  mentioned  the  name  of  Har- 
court !  She  would  not  now ;  he  need  not 
know  that  it  was  his  father  who  had  origi- 
nated the  party  ;  why  should  she  make  him 
uncomfortable  for  the  few  moments  they 
were  together  ? 

There  was  nothing  of  tliis  in  her  face  as 
she  descended  and  joined  him.  lie  thought 
that  face  handsome,  well-bred,  and  refined. 
But  this  breeding  and  refinement  seemed  to 
him  —  in  his  ignorance  of  the  world,  possibly 
—  as  only  a  graceful  conceabnent  of  a  self  of 


190      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

which  he  knew  nothing;  and  he  was  not  sur- 
prised to  find  that  her  pretty  gi"ay  eyes,  now 
no  longer  hidden  by  her  veil,  really  told  him 
no  more  than  her  lips.  He  was  a  little  afraid 
of  her,  and  now  that  she  had  lost  her  naive 
enthusiasm  he  was  conscious  of  a  vague  re- 
morsefulness  for  his  interrupted  work  in  the 
forest.  What  was  he  doing  here  ?  He  who 
had  avoided  the  cruel,  selfish  world  of  wealth 
and  pleasure,  —  a  world  that  this  woman  re- 
presented, —  the  world  that  had  stood  apart 
from  him  in  the  one  dream  of  his  life  —  and 
had  let  Loo  die !  His  quickly  resjjonsive 
face  darkened. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  really  interrupted  you  up 
there,"  she  said  gently,  looking  in  his  face 
with  an  expression  of  unfeigned  concern ; 
*'  you  were  at  work  of  some  kind,  I  know, 
and  I  have  very  selfishly  thought  only  of 
myself.  But  the  whole  scene  was  so  new  to 
me,  and  I  so  rarely  meet  any  one  who  sees 
things  as  I  do,  that  I  know  you  will  forgive 
me."  She  bent  her  eyes  upon  him  with  a 
certain  soft  timidity.     "  You  are  an  artist  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  he  said,  coloring  and 
smiling  faintly  ;  "  I  don't  think  I  could  draw 
a  straight  line." 

"  Don't  try  to  ;  they  're  not  pretty,  and  the 


A   FIRST  FA.UJLY   OF    TASAJARA.      191 

mere  ability  to  draw  them  straight  or  curved 
does  u't  make  an  artist.  But  you  are  a 
lover  of  nature,  I  know,  and  from  what  I 
have  heard  you  say  I  believe  you  can  do 
what  lovers  cannot  do,  —  make  others  feel 
as  they  do,  —  and  that  is  what  I  call  being 
an  artist.     You  write  ?     You  are  a  poet  ?  " 

"■  Oh  dear,  no,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  half 
of  relief  and  half  of  naive  superiority,  "  I  'm 
a  prose  writer  —  on  a  daily  newspaper." 

To  his  surprise  she  was  not  disconcerted ; 
rather  a  look  of  animation  lit  up  her  face  as 
she  said  brightly,  "Oh,  then,  you  can  of 
course  satisfy  my  curiosity  about  something. 
You  know  the  road  from  San  Francisco  to 
the  Cliff  House.  Except  for  the  view  of  the 
sea-lions  when  one  gets  there  it  's  stupid  ;  my 
brother  says  it  's  like  all  the  San  Francisco 
excursions,  —  a  dusty  drive  with  a  julep  at 
the  end  of  it.  Well,  one  day  we  were  com- 
ing back  from  a  drive  there,  and  when  we 
were  beginning  to  wind  along  the  brow  of 
that  dreadful  staring  Lone  ^Mountain  Ceme- 
tery, I  said  I  would  get  out  and  walk,  and 
avoid  the  obtrusive  glitter  of  those  tomb- 
stones rising  before  mo  all  the  way.  I 
pushed  open  a  little  gate  and  passed  in. 
Once  among  these  funereal  shrubs  and  cold 


192      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

statuesque  lilies  everything  was  clianged ;  I 
saw  the  staring  tombstones  no  longer,  for, 
like  them,  I  seemed  to  be  always  facing  the 
sea.  The  road  had  vanished  ;  everything  had 
vanished  but  the  endless  waste  of  ocean  be- 
low me,  and  the  last  slope  of  rock  and  sand. 
It  seemed  to  be  the  fittest  place  for  a  ceme- 
tery, —  this  end  of  the  crumbling  earth,  — 
this  beginning  of  the  eternal  sea.  There ! 
don't  think  that  idea  my  own,  or  that  I 
thought  of  it  then.  No,  —  I  read  it  all  af- 
terwards, and  that 's  why  I  'm  telling  you 
this." 

She  could  not  help  smiling  at  his  now  at- 
tentive face,  and  went  on  :  "  Some  days  af- 
terwards I  got  hold  of  a  newspaper  four  or 
six  months  old,  and  there  was  a  description 
of  all  that  I  thought  I  had  seen  and  felt,  — 
only  far  more  beautiful  and  touching,  as  you 
shall  see,  for  I  cut  it  out  of  the  paper  and 
have  kept  it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  must 
be  some  personal  experience,  —  as  if  the 
writer  had  followed  some  dear  friend  there, 
—  although  it  was  with  the  unostcntation  and 
indefinitcness  of  true  and  delicate  feeling. 
It  impressed  me  so  much  tliat  I  went  back 
there  twice  or  thrice,  and  always  seemed  to 
move  to  the  rhythm  of   that   beautiful   fu- 


A  FIJiST  FAMILY  OF  TA8AJARA.      193 

neral  march  —  and  I  am  afraid,  being  a  wo- 
man, that  I  wandered  around  among  the 
graves  as  though  I  could  find  out  who  it 
was  that  had  been  sung  so  sweetly,  and  if  it 
were  man  or  woman.  I  've  got  it  here,"  she 
said,  taking  a  dainty  ivory  porte-monnaie 
from  her  pocket  and  picking  out  with  two 
slim  finger-tips  a  folded  slip  of  newspaper ; 
"  and  I  thought  that  may  be  you  might  recog- 
nize the  style  of  the  writer,  and  perhaps  know 
something  of  his  history.  For  I  believe  he 
has  one.  There  !  that  is  only  a  part  of  the 
article,  of  course,  but  it  is  the  part  that  in- 
terested me.  Just  read  from  there,"  she 
pointed,  leaning  partly  over  his  shoulder  so 
that  her  soft  breath  stirred  his  hair,  "  to  the 
end  ;  it  is  n't  long." 

In  the  film  that  seemed  to  come  across  his 
eyes,  suddenly  th(i  print  a])peared  blurred 
and  indistinct.  But  he  knew  that  she  had 
put  into  his  hand  something  he  had  written 
after  the  death  of  his  wife  ;  something  spon- 
taneous and  impulsive,  when  her  loss  still 
filled  his  days  and  nights  and  almost  uncon- 
sciously swayed  his  pen.  He  remembered 
that  his  eyes  had  been  as  dim  when  he  wrote 
it  —  and  now  —  handed  to  him  by  this  smil- 
ing, well-to-do  v.oman,  he  was  as  shocked  at 

G  -Bret  Harte  v,  22 


194      -1   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

first  as  if  he  had  suddenly  found  her  reading 
his  private  letters.  This  was  followed  Ly  a 
sudden  sense  of  .shame  that  he  had  ever  thus 
publicly  bared  his  feelings,  and  then  by  the 
illogical  but  irresistible  conviction  that  it 
was  false  and  stupid.  The  few  phrases  slic 
had  pointed  out  appeared  as  cheap  and  hol- 
low rhetoric  amid  the  surroundings  of  their 
social  tete-a-tete  over  the  luncheon  -  table. 
There  was  small  danger  that  this  heady  wine 
of  woman's  praise  would  make  him  betray 
himself  ;  there  was  no  vA'^v.  of  gratified  au- 
thorship in  his  voice  as  he  quietly  laid  down 
the  paper  and  said  dryly  :  "  I  am  afraid  I 
can"t  help  you.  You  know  it  may  be  purely 
fanciful." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  ]Mrs.  Ashwood 
thoughtfully.  "  At  the  same  time  it  does  n't 
strike  me  as  a  very  aliiding  grief  for  that 
very  reason.  It  's  too  sympathetic.  It 
strikes  me  that  it  might  be  the  first  grief  of 
some  one  too  young  to  be  inured  to  sorrow 
or  experienced  enough  to  accept  it  as  the 
common  lot.  But  like  aii  youthful  impres- 
sions it  is  very  sincere  and  true  wliile  it 
lasts.  I  don't  know  whether  one  gets  au}^- 
thing  more  real  when  one  gets  older." 

With  an  insinceritv  he  could  not  account 


A   FIRST   FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA.      195 

for,  ho  now  felt  inclined  to  defend  Lis  pi'evi- 
ous  sentiment,  altbougli  all  the  while  cf)n- 
scions  of  a  certain  charm  in  his  companion's 
graceful  slxeptlcism.  He  had  in  his  truth- 
fulness and  indojiendence  hitherto  always 
hcen  quite  free  from  that  feeble  admiration 
of  cynieism  NvJiIeh  attacks  the  intellectually 
weak  and  ijiiinature,  and  his  present  predi- 
lection may  linvo  been  due  more  to  her 
charming  personality.  She  was  not  at  all 
like  his  sisters  ;  she  had  none  of  Clemen- 
tina's cold  abstraction,  and  none  of  Euphe- 
mia's  sharp  and  demo7istrative  effusiveness. 
And  in  his  secret  consciousness  of  her  flat- 
tering- foreknowledge  of  him,  with  lier  assur- 
ance that  before  tliey  liad  ever  met  he  had 
unwittingly  influenced  her,  he  began  to  feel 
more  at  his  case.  Ilis  fair  companion  also, 
in  the  equally  secret  knowledge  she  had  ac- 
quired of  his  history,  felt  as  secure  as  if  she 
had  been  formally  introduced.  Nobody 
ceuld  find  fault  with  hev  for  showing  civility 
to  the  ostensible  son  of  hei'  host ;  it  was  not 
necessary  that  slic  should  be  aware  of  their 
family  differences.  Tb.ere  was  a  charm  too 
in  tli'^ir  enforced  isolation,  in  what  was  the 
cxceptionnl  solitude  of  the  little  hotel  thct 
day,  and  tlie  seclus:;.in  of  their  table  l)y  tlic^ 


196      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

window  of  the  dining-room,  which  gave  a 
charming  domesticity  to  their  repast.  From 
time  to  time  they  glanced  down  the  lonely 
caiion,  losing  itself  in  the  afternoon  shadow. 
Nevertheless  Mrs.  Ashwood's  preoccupation 
with  Nature  did  not  preclude  a  human  curi- 
osity to  hear  something  more  of  John  Mil- 
ton's quarrel  with  his  father.  There  was  cer- 
tainly nothing  of  the  prodigal  son  about  him ; 
there  was  no  precocious  evil  knowledge  in 
his  frank  eyes ;  no  record  of  excesses  in  his 
healthy,  fresh  complexion  ;  no  unwholesome 
or  disturbed  tastes  in  what  she  had  seen  of 
his  rural  preferences  and  understanding  of 
natural  l)eauty.  To  have  attempted  any  di- 
rect questioning  that  would  have  revealed 
his  name  and  identity  would  have  obliged 
her  to  s])eak  of  herself  as  liis  father's  guest. 
She  began  indirectly ;  he  liad  said  he  had 
been  a  reporter,  and  he  was  still  a  chronicler 
of  this  strange  life.  lie  had  of  course  heard 
of  many  cases  of  family  feuds  and  estrange- 
ments? Her  brother  had  told  her  of  some 
dreadful  vendettas  he  liad  known  in  tlie 
Southwest,  and  liow  whole  families  had  been 
divided.  Since  she  had  been  here  she  had 
heard  of  odd  cases  of  brothers  meeting  acci- 
dentally after  long  and  unaccounted  separa- 


A   FIRST  FAMILY    OF    TASAJAHA.       197 

tions  ;  of  husbands  suddenly  confronted 
witli  wives  they  had  deserted  ;  of  fathers  en- 
countering disearded  sons  I 

,Johii  Milton's  face  betrayed  no  uneasy 
consciousness.  If  anything-  it  was  beginning 
to  glow  with  a  boyish  admiration  of  the 
grace  and  intelligence  of  the  fair  speaker, 
that  was  perhaps  heightened  b}'  an  assump- 
tion of    half  cu({uettish  discomfiture. 

'•  You  are  laughing  at  me  I  "  she  said 
finally.  '"  But  inhuman  and  selfish  as  these 
stories  may  seem,  and  sometimes  are,  I  be- 
lieve that  these  curious  estrangements  and 
se})arations  often  come  from  some  fatal  weak- 
ness of  temperament  that  might  be  sti-ength- 
ened,  or  some  trivial  misunderstanding  that 
could  bo  explained.  It  is  separation  that 
makes  them  seem  irrevocable  only  because 
they  arc  inexplicable,  and  a  vague  memory 
always  seems  more  terrible  than  a  definite 
one.  Facts  may  be  forgiven  and  forgotten, 
but  mysteries  haunt  one  always.  I  believe 
there  arc  weak,  sensitive  })eople  who  dread 
to  put  their  wrongs  into  shape  ;  those  are 
the  kind  who  sulk,  and  when  you  add  sepa- 
ration to  sulking,  reconciliation  becomes  im- 
possil)le.  I  knew  a  very  singular  case  of 
that  kind  once.     If  you  like,  I  '11  tell  it  to 


rj8       A    FJKST  FAMILY    OF    TAHAJAliA. 

you.  ^iixy  be  you  will  be  able,  some  day,  to 
v/eavo  it  into  one  of  your  writings.  And  it 's 
quite  true." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  John 
Milton  had  not  been  touched  by  any  personal 
significance  in  his  companion's  speech,  what- 
ever she  may  have  intended  ;  and  it  is  equally 
true  that  whether  she  had  presentl}^  forgot- 
ten her  purpose,  or  had  become  suddenly  in- 
terested in  her  own  conversation,  her  face 
grew  more  animated,  her  manner  moi'C  con- 
fidential, and  something  of  the  youtliful  en- 
thusiasm she  had  shown  in  the  mountain 
seemed  to  come  back  to  her. 

"  I  might  say  it  ha]-)pened  anywhere  and 
call  the  people  M.  or  N.,  but  it  really  did 
occur  in  my  own  family,  and  although  1  was 
much  younger  at  tlie  time  it  impressed  me 
very  strongly.  ]\Iy  cousin,  who  had  been 
my  playmate,  was  an  orphan,  and  had  been 
intrusted  to  the  care  of  my  father,  who  was 
his  guaixlian.  He  was  always  a  clever  boy, 
but  singularly  sensitive  and  quick  to  take 
olfensc.  IVrhaps  it  was  because  the  little 
jjroporty  his  fathev  had  left  made  him  partly 
de])endent  on  my  father,  and  that  I  was  ricli, 
but  he  seemed  to  feel  the  disparity  in  our 
positions.     I  was  too  young  to  understand 


A  FIIiST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.      199 

it ;  I  think  it  existed  only  in  his  imagination, 
for  I  believe  we  were  treated  alike.  But 
I  remember  that  he  was  full  of  vague  threats 
of  running  away  and  going  to  sea,  and  that 
it  was  part  of  his  weak  temperament  to  ter- 
rify me  with  his  extravagant  confidences.  I 
was  always  frightened  wdien,  after  one  of 
those  scenes,  he  would  pack  his  valise  or 
perhaps  only  tie  w]}  a  few  things  in  a  hand- 
kerchief, as  in  the  advertisement  pictures  of 
the  runaway  slaves,  and  declare  that  we 
would  never  lay  eyes  u])on  him  again.  At 
first  I  never  saw  the  ridiculousness  of  all 
this,  —  for  I  ought  to  have  told  you  that 
he  was  a  rather  delicate  and  timid  boy, 
and  quite  unfitted  for  a  rough  life  or  any 
exposure,  —  but  others  did,  and  one  day  I 
laughed  at  him  and  told  him  he  was  afraid. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  his 
face  and  never  forgive  myself  for  it.  He 
went  away,  —  ])ut  he  returned  the  next 
day  !  lie  threatened  once  to  commit  suicide, 
left  iiis  clothes  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  and 
came  home  in  another  suit  of  clothes  he  had 
t:ikeii  witii  him.  Yv'iien  I  was  sent  abroad 
to  school  t  lost  si<;-lit  of  liim ;  when  I 
returned  he  w\is  at  college,  apparently  un- 
changed.   Wlien  he  came  home  for  vacation, 


200      A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARjL 

far  from  having  been  subdued  by  contact 
with  strangers,  it  seemed  that  his  unhappy 
sensitiveness  had  been  only  intensified  by 
the  ridicule  of  liis  fellows.  He  had  even 
acquired  a  most  ridiculous  theory  about  the 
degrading  effects  of  civilization,  and  wanted 
to  go  back  to  a  state  of  barbarism.  He  said 
the  wildei'ness  was  the  only  true  home  of  man. 
My  father,  instead  of  bearing  with  what  I 
believe  was  his  infirmity,  drjdy  offered  him 
the  means  to  try  his  experiment.  He  started 
for  some  place  in  Texas,  saying  we  would 
never  hear  from  him  again.  A  month  after 
he  wrote  for  more  money.  jNIy  father 
replied  rather  impatiently,  I  suppose,  —  I 
never  knew  exactly  what  he  wrote.  That 
was  some  years  ago.  He  had  told  the  truth 
at  last,  for  we  never  heard  from  him  again." 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  John  JSIilton  was 
following  the  animated  lips  and  eyes  of  the 
fair  speaker  rather  than  her  story.  Perhaps 
that  was  the  reason  why  he  said,  "  ]May  he 
not  have  l)een  a  disa])pointed  man  ?  " 

''  I  don't  understand,"  slie  said  sim])ly. 

"  IVrliaps,"  said  riohn  Milton  with  a  boy- 
ish blush,  "  you  may  liavc  unconsciously 
raised  liopes  in  liis  ]ieart  —  and  "  — 

"I  should  hardly  attempt  to  interest  a 


A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       201 

clironicler  of  adventure  like  you  in  sut^li  a 
very  coninionplucc,  every-day  style  of  ro- 
manee,"  she  said,  with  a  little  impatience, 
"'  (>ven  if  my  vanity  comptdled  me  to  make 
such  confidences  to  a  stranger.  No,  —  it 
was  notliing'  quite  as  vulgar  as  that.  And," 
she  added  quickly,  with  a  playfully  amused 
smile  as  she  saw  the  young  fellow's  evident 
distress,  "  I  should  have  ])robal)ly  heard 
from  him  again.  Those  stories  always  end 
in  that  way." 

"And  you  think?"  —  said  flohn  ^Milton. 

"  I  think,"  said  ]Mrs.  Ashwood  slowly, 
"  that  he  actually  did  commit  suicide  —  or 
effaced  himself  in  some  way,  just  as  firndy 
as  I  helicve  he  might  have  been  saved  by 
judicious  treatment.  Otherwise  we  should 
liave  heard  from  him.  You  "11  say  that 's 
only  a  woman's  reasoning  —  but  I  think  our 
peu'ceptions  are  often  instinctive,  and  I  knew 
his  character." 

Still  following  the  play  of  her  delicate 
features  into  a  romance  of  his  own  weaving, 
the  imaginative  young  reporter  who  had 
seen  so  much  from  the  heights  of  Russian 
Hill  said  earnestly,  ''  Then  I  have  your 
permission  to  use  this  material  at  any  fu- 
ture time  ?  " 


202       A    FIRUT  FAMILY    OF   TAHAJAUA. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lady  smilingly. 

"  And  you  will  not  mind  if  I  should  take 
some  liberties  with  the  text?" 

"  I  must  of  course  leave  something  to 
your  artistic  taste.  But  you  will  let  me  see 
it?" 

There  were  voices  outside  now,  breaking 
tho  silence  of  the  veranda.  They  had  been 
so  ])reoceupied  as  not  to  notice  tlie  arrival 
of  a  horseman.  Steps  came  along  the  pas- 
sngc ;  the  landlord  returned.  Mrs.  Ash- 
wood  turned  quickly  towards  him. 

"  3/Ir.  Grant,  of  your  party,  ma'am,  to 
fetch  you." 

She  saw  an  unniistakal)le  change  in  her 
young  friend's  mobile  face.  ''  I  will  be 
ready  in  a  moment,"  she  said  to  tlie  land- 
lord. Then,  tui-ning  to  John  IMilton,  the 
arch-hypocrite  said  sweetly :  "  ]My  brother 
must  have  known  instinctively  that  I  was  in 
good  hands,  as  lie  did  n't  come.  But  I  am 
sorry,  for  I  sliould  have  so  liked  to  intro- 
duce liini  to  you  —  although  by  tlie  v/ay," 
with  a  briglit  smile,  "  I  don't  think  you 
have  yet  told  nie  your  name.  1  know  I 
could  n't  \\\\v(if()r<joi1.cn  it." 

"llarcourt,"  said  John  Milton,  with  a 
lialf-embarrassed  lau^rh. 


.1    FIRST  FAMILY    OF    TASAJAIiA.       203 

"  But  you  must  coiue  and  aea  lue,  Mr.  ^ 
Mr.  llarcourt,"  slm  said,  producing  a  card 
from  a  case  already  in  her  fingers,  '*  at  my 
hotel,  and  let  my  brother  thank  you  there 
for  your  kindness  and  gallantry  to  a  stranger. 
I  shall  be  here  a  few  weeks  longer  before 
we  go  south  to  look  for  a  place  where  my 
brother  can  winter.  Do  come  and  see  me, 
although  /  cannot  introduce  you  to  an3'thing 
as  real  and  beautiful  as  wliat  tjou  have 
shown  me  to-day.  Good-by,  Islv.  Ilarcourt ; 
I  won't  trouble  you  to  come  down  and  bore 
yourself  with  my  escort's  cjuestious  and  cou- 
gratnlations." 

She  bent  her  head  and  allowed  her  soft 
eyes  to  rest  upon  his  with  a  graciousness 
that  was  beyond  her  speech,  pulled  her  veil 
over  her  eyes  again,  witli  a  pretty  sugges- 
tion that  she  had  no  further  use  for  them, 
and  taking  her  riding-skirt  lightly  in  her 
hand  seemed  to  glide  from  the  room. 

On  her  way  t(j  San  Mateo,  where  it  ai> 
peared  the  disorganized  party  had  prolonged 
their  visit  to  acce))t  an  invitation  to  dine 
with  a  local  magnate,  she  was  pleasantly 
conversational  with  the  slightly  abstracted 
Ctrant.  Slie  was  so  sorry  to  have  given 
them  all  this  trouble  and  anxiety  !    Of  course 


204      A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

she  ought  to  have  waited  at  the  fork  of  the 
road,  but  she  had  never  doubted  but  she 
could  rejoin  them  presently  on  the  main 
road.  She  was  glad  tliat  Miss  Euj^hemia's 
runaway  horse  had  l^een  stojiped  without  ac- 
cident ;  it  would  have  been  dreadful  if  any- 
thing had  happened  to  her  ;  Mr.  Harcourt 
seemed  so  wrapped  up  in  his  girls.  It  was  a 
pity  they  never  had  a  son  —  Ah  ?  Indeed  ! 
Then  there  was  a  son  ?  So  —  and  father 
and  son  had  quarreled  ?  That  was  so  sad. 
And  for  some  trifling  cause,  no  doubt  ? 

"  I  believe  lie  married  tlie  housemaid," 
said  Grant  grimly.  "  Be  careful !  —  Allow 
me." 

"  It 's  no  use !  "  said  Mrs.  Ashwood,  flusli. 
ing  with  pink  impatience,  as  she  recovered 
lier  seat,  which  a  sudden  bolt  of  her  mus- 
tang had  imperiled,  "  I  really  can't  make 
out  the  tricks  of  this  beast !  Thank  you," 
she  added,  with  a  sweet  smile,  "  but  I  think 
I  can  manage  him  now.  I  can't  see  why  he 
stopi)cd.  I  '11  be  more  careful.  You  were 
saying  tlie  son  was  married  —  surely  not 
that  boy !  " 

"  lioy  !  "  echoed  (irant.  "  Then  you 
know  ?  "  — 

"  1  mean  of  course  he  must  be  a  boy  — ■ 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJiUiA.      205 

they  all  ^rcw  up  here  —  and  it  was  only  five 
or  six  years  ago  that  their  parents  emi- 
grated," she  retorted  a  little  impatiently. 
"■  And  what  about  this  ereature  ?  " 

"  Your  liorse?  " 

"  You  know  I  mean  the  woman  he  mar- 
ried. Of  course  she  was  older  than  he  — 
and  caught  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  there  was  a  year  or  two  differ- 
ence," said  Grant  quietly. 

"  Yes,  but  your  gallantry  keeps  you  from 
telling  the  truth;  which  is  that  the  women, 
in  cases  of  this  kind,  are  much  older  and 
more  experienced." 

"  Are  they  ?  AVell,  perhaps  she  is,  now. 
She  is  dead." 

Mrs.  Ashwood  walked  her  horse.  "  Poor 
thing,"  she  said.  Then  a  sudden  idea  took 
possession  of  her  and  brought  a  fdm  to  her 
eyes.  "'How  long  ago?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  About  six  or  seven  months,  I  think.  I 
believe  there  was  a  baby  wlio  died  too." 

She  contiimed  to  walk  her  horse  slowly, 
stroking  its  curved  neck.  "  I  think  it  's 
perfectly  shameful  I  "  she  said  suddenly. 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,  Mrs.  Asliwood, 
surely.  The  girl  may  have  loved  him  — 
and  he"  — 


206       A   FIIiST  FAMILY    Or    TASAJAIiA. 

"  You  know  perfectly  what  I  mean,  Mr. 
Grant.  I  speak  of  the  conduct  of  the 
mother  and  father  and  those  two  sisters !  " 

(jrant  slightly  elevated  his  eyebrows. 
"  But  you  forgot,  ]\Irs.  Ashwood.  It  was 
young  Ilarcourt  and  his  wife's  own  act. 
They  preferred  to  take  their  own  path  and 
keep  it." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Ashwood  authori- 
tatively, ''  that  the  idea  of  leaving  those  two 
unfortunate  children  to  suffer  and  strugrcfle 
on  alone  —  out  there  —  on  the  sand  hills  of 
San  Francisco  —  was  simply  disgraceful!  " 

Later  that  evening  she  was  unreasonably 
annoyed  to  find  that  her  brother,  jMr.  John 
Shi])lcy,  had  taken  advantage  of  the  absence 
of  Grant  to  pay  marked  attention  to  Clem- 
entina, and  had  even  prevailed  upon  tliat  im- 
perious goddess  to  accompany  him  after  dm- 
ner  on  a  moonlight  stroll  upon  the  veranda 
and  terraces  of  Los  Pajaros.  ISeverthe- 
k'ss  she  seemed  to  recover  her  spirits  enough 
to  talk  volubly  of  the  beautiful  scenery  she 
had  discovered  in  her  late  perilous  abandon- 
ment in  the  wilds  of  the  Coast  l\angc  ;  to 
aver  her  intention  to  visit  it  again  ;  to  speak 
of  it  in  a  severely  })ractlcal  way  as  offering 
a  far  better   site   for   the   cottages  of    the 


A    y/RSl    FAMILY    OF    TASA.IAIiA.       207 

yonng  marriod  cou])lcs  just  bcglriTiiiio^  life 
tliau  tlu!  outskirts  of  towns  or  the  bleak 
sand  hills  of  San  Francisco ;  and  thence  by 
graceful  degrees  into  a  dissertation  upon 
po})idar  fallacies  in  regard  to  hasty  mar- 
riages, and  the  mistaken  idea  of  some  parents 
in  not  accepting  tlie  inevitable  and  making 
the  best  of  it.  She  still  found  time  to  cu- 
ter into  an  appreciative  and  exhaustive  criti- 
cism upon  the  literature  and  journalistic 
enterprise  of  the  Pacific  Coast  witli  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  "  Pioneer,"  and  to  cause  that 
gentleman  to  dccb.ro  that  whatever  people 
might  say  about  rich  and  fasliionablo  East- 
ern women,  that  ]Mrs.  Asliwood's  head  was 
about  as  level  as  it  was  pretty. 

Tlic  next  n;orniug  found  her  more 
tlioughtful  and  su]»ducd,  and  when  her 
brotlu'r  canic  u})on  her  sitting  on  t1ie  ver- 
anda, wliilo  the  party  were  pre})aring  to  re- 
turn, she  vras  reading  a  news}>nper  slip  that 
she  had  taken  fi'om  liov  ])ort(^-nionnaie,  with 
a  face  tliat  was  ])artly  shadowed. 

"  What  liave  you  struck  there,  Conny  ?  " 
said  her  brotlicr  gayly,  "  It  looks  too  seri- 
ous for  a  recipe." 

"  Something  T  sliould  like  ynn  to  read 
some    time,    Jack,"'    she    said,    lifting    her 


208      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA. 

lashes  with  a  sliglit  timidity,  "  if  you  would 
take  the  trouble.  I  really  wonder  how  it 
would  impress  you." 

"  Pass  it  over,"  said  Jack  Shipley  good- 
humoredly,  with  his  cigar  between  his  lips. 
"  I  '11  take  it  now." 

She  handed  him  the  slip  and  turned 
partly  away  ;  he  took  it,  glanced  at  it  side- 
ways, turned  it  over,  and  suddenly  his  look 
grew  concentrated,  and  he  took  the  cigar 
from  his  lips. 

"  Well,"  she  said  playfully,  turning  to 
him  again.     "  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  Think  of  it  ?  "  he  said  with  a  rising 
color.  "I  think  it's  infamous!  Who  did 
it?" 

She  stared  at  him,  then  glanced  quickly 
at  the  slip.  "  What  are  you  reading  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  This,  of  course,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"  What  you  gave  me."  But  he  was  point- 
ing to  the  other  side  of  the  newspaper  slip. 

She  took  it  from  him  impatiently  and 
read  for  the  first  time  the  printing  on  the 
reverse  side  of  the  article  she  had  treasured 
so  long.  It  was  the  concluding  paragraph 
of  an  apparently  larger  editorial.  "  One 
thing  is  certain,  that  a  man  in  Daniel  liar- 


A   FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       209 

court's  ])(>siti(>n  cannot  afford  to  pass  over 
in  silence  accusations  like  the  above,  that 
affect  not  only  his  private  character,  but  the 
integrity  of  his  title  to  the  land  that  was  the 
ff)undation  of  his  fortune.  When  trickery, 
sharp  2)ractice,  and  even  criminality  in  the 
past  are  more  than  hinted  at,  they  cannot 
be  met  by  mere  pompous  silence  or  allusions 
to  pi'ivate  position,  social  prestige,  or  distin- 
guished friends  in  the  present."' 

Mrs.  Ashwood  turned  the  slip  over  with 
scornful  impatience,  a  pretty  uplifting  of 
her  eyebrows  and  a  slight  curl  of  her  lip. 
"  I  suppose  none  of  those  people's  begin- 
nings can  bear  looking  into  —  and  they  cer- 
tainly should  be  the  last  ones  to  find  faidt 
with  anybody.  But,  good  gracious,  Jack  ! 
what  lias  this  to  do  with  you  ?  " 

"With  me?"  said  Shipley  angrily. 
"  Why,  I  proposed  to  Clementina  last 
night !  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  wayfarers  on  the  Tasajara  tnrii])ike, 
whom  ]\rr.  Daniel  llarconrt  passed  with  his 
fast  trotting  mare  and  snlky,  saw  that  their 
great  fellow-townsman  was  more  tlian  nsn- 
ally  prcoccnpied  and  cnrt  in  his  acknow- 
ledgment of  their  salntations.  Nevortlieless 
as  he  drew  near  the  creek,  ho  partly  checked 
his  horse,  and  when  ho  reached  a  sliglit  ac- 
clivity of  the  interminable  ])lain — ^ which 
had  really  been  the  bank  of  the  creek  in 
bygone  days  —  he  pnlled  np,  alighted,  tied 
his  horse  to  a  rail  fence,  and  claudiering 
over  the  inclosnre  made  his  way  along  the 
ridge.  It  was  covered  with  nettles,  thistles, 
and  a  few  wiry  dwarf  larches  of  native 
growth;  dnst  from  the  adjacent  higlnvay 
had  invaded  it,  with  a  few  scattered  and 
torn  handbills,  waste  pa])er,  rags,  eni]My 
provision  cans,  and  other  snbnrban  debris. 
Yet  it  was  the  site  of  'Lige  Cnrtis's  cabin, 
long  since  erased  and  fdrgotten.  Tlie  l)ed 
of  the  old  cr(-ek  had  receded  ;  the  last  lulcs 


A  FiiiST  Family  of  tasajara.    211 

had  been  cleared  away;  the  channel  and  (m- 
IxircmUro  were  half  a  mile  from  the  bank 
and  lo^-  whereon  the  pioneer  of  Tasajara 
had  idly  sunned  himself. 

Mr,  Harcoui-t  walked  on,  occasionally 
turnhig  over  the  scattered  objects  with  his 
foot,  and  stopping  at  times  to  examine  the 
ground  more  closely.  It  had  not  apparently 
been  disturbed  since  he  himself,  six  years 
ago,  Jiad  razed  the  wretched  shanty  and  car- 
ried off  its  timbers  to  aid  in  the  erection  of 
a  larger  cal)in  further  inland.  He  raised 
his  eyes  to  the  prospect  before  him,  —  to 
the  town  with  its  steamboats  lying  at  the 
wharves,  to  the  grain  elevator,  the  ware- 
houses, the  railroad  station  with  its  puffing 
engines,  the  flagstaff  of  Ilarcourt  House  and 
the  clustering  roofs  of  the  town,  and  beyond, 
the  ])aiuted  dome  of  his  last  creation,  the 
Free  Library.  This  was  all  lih  work,  lils 
planning,  A/n  foresight,  whatever  they  might 
say  of  tlie  wandering  drunkard  from  whose 
tremulous  fingers  he  had  snatched  the  op- 
portunity. They  could  not  take  that  from 
him,  liowover  they  might  follow  him  with 
envy  and  reviling,  anymore  than  they  could 
w^rest  from  him  the  five  years  of  peaceful 
possession.     It  was  with  something    of    the 


212       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

prosperous  consciousness  with  which  he  had 
mounted  the  platform  on  the  opening  of  the 
Free  Library,  that  he  now  climbed  into  his 
buggy  and  drove  away. 

Nevertheless  he  stopped  at  his  Land  Of- 
fice as  he  drove  into  town,  and  gave  a  few 
orders.  "  I  want  a  strong  picket  fence  put 
around  the  ^ity-vara  lot  in  block  fiftv'-seven, 
and  the  ground  cleared  u])  at  once.  Let  me 
know  when  the  men  get  to  work,  and  I  '11 
overlook  them." 

Kecntering  his  own  house  in  the  square, 
where  IVlrs.  Ilarcourt  and  Clementina  — 
who  often  accompanied  him  in  those  busi- 
ness visits  —  were  waiting  for  him  with 
luncheon,  he  smiled  somewhat  superciliously 
as  the  servant  informed  him  that  "Professor 
Grant  had  just  arrived."  Really  that  man 
was  trying  to  make  the  most  of  his  time 
with  Clementina !  Perha]is  the  rival  attrac- 
tions of  that  Boston  swell  Shipley  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it !  lie  must  positively  talk 
to  Clementina  about  this.  In  point  of  fact 
he  hiuiself  was  a  little  disappointed  in  Grant, 
wlio,  since  his  offoi"  to  take  the  task  of  hunt- 
ing down  Ins  calumniators,  had  really  done 
nothing.  ]Ie  turned  into  his  study,  but  was 
slightly  astonished  to  find   that  Grant,  in- 


A   FJliHT  FAMILY    OF   TASAJAHA.      213 

stead  of  paying  court  to  Clementina  in  the 
adjoinini;'  drawing'-rooni,  was  sitting  rather 
thoughttully  in  his  own  armchair. 

lie  rose  as  llarcourt  entered.  ''  I  did  n't 
let  them  announce  me  to  the  ladies,"  he  said, 
"•  as  I  have  some  imjjortant  business  with 
you  first,  and  we  may  find  it  necessary  that 
1  should  take  the  next  train  back  to  town. 
You  remember  that  a  few  weeks  ago  1  of- 
fered to  look  into  the  matter  of  those  slan- 
ders against  you.  1  api)rehended  it  would 
be  a  trifling  matter  of  envy  or  jealousy  on 
the  part  of  your  old  associates  or  neighbors 
which  could  be  put  straiglit  with  a  little  good 
feeling  ;  but  I  must  be  frank  with  you,  llar- 
court, and  say  at  the  beginning  that  it  turns 
out  to  bo  an  infernally  ugly  business.  Call 
it  C()ns])iracy  if  you  like,  or  organized  hos- 
tility, I  "m  afraid  it  will  recpiire  a  lawyer 
rather  than  an  arbitrator  to  manage  it,  and 
the  sooner  the  better.  For  the  most  unplea- 
sant thing  about  it  is,  tliat  I  can't  find  out 
exactly  Jiov  Ixnl  it  is  !  "' 

L'ufortunately  tlie  weaker  instinct  of  liar- 
court's  nature  was  first  roused  ;  the  vulgar 
I'age  which  confounds  the  bearer  of  ill  ninvs 
with  the  news  itself  lilleil  his  breast.  ''And 
this  is  all  that  your  confounded  intermcd- 
dlin<r  came  to?  ''  he  said  brutally. 


214      A  FIliST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAHA. 

"  No,"  said  Grant  quietly,  with  a  preoc- 
cupied ignoring  of  the  insult  that  was  more 
hopeless  for  Harcourt.  "  I  found  out  that 
it  is  claimed  that  this  'Lig'e  Curtis  was  not 
drowned  nor  lost  that  night ;  but  that  he 
escaped,  and  for  three  years  has  convinced 
another  man  that  you  are  wrongfully  in  pos- 
session of  this  land  ;  that  these  two  natur- 
ally hold  you  in  their  power,  and  that  they 
are  only  waiting  for  you  to  be  forced  into 
legal  proceedings  for  slander  to  prove  all 
thuir  charges.  Until  then,  for  some  reason 
best  known  to  themselves,  Curtis  remains  in 
the  background." 

"Does  he  deny  the  deed  under  wdiich  I 
hold  the  property?"  said  Harcourt  sav- 
agely. 

"  He  says  it  was  only  a  security  for  a  tri- 
fling loan,  and  not  an  actual  transfer." 

"  And  don't  those  fools  know  that  his  se- 
curity could  be  forfeited  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  not  in  the  way  it  is  recorded 
in  the  county  clerk's  office.  They  say  that 
the  record  shows  that  there  was  an  intei'- 
poLition  in  the  ])aper  he  left  with  you  — 
wliich  was  a  forgery.  Briefly,  Harcourt, 
you  are  accused  of  that.  More,  —  it  is  inti- 
mated that  when  he  fell  into  the  creek  that 


A   FIRiiT  FAMILY   OF   TA1>AJARA.       215 

night,  and  escaped  on  a  raft  that  was  float- 
ing past,  that  he  had  been  first  stunned  by 
a  blow  from  some  one  interested  in  getting 
rid  of  him." 

He  paused  and  glanced  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

'•  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Harcourt  in  a  per- 
fectly quiet,  steady  voice. 

''  All  I"  replied  Grant,  struck  with  the 
change  in  his  companion's  manner,  and  turn- 
ing his  eyes  upon  him  quickly. 

The  change  indeed  was  marked  and  sig- 
nificant. Whether  from  relief  at  knowing 
the  worst,  or  whether  he  was  experiencing 
the  same  reaction  from  the  utter  falsity  of 
this  last  accusation  that  he  had  felt  when 
Grant  had  unintentionally  wronged  him  in 
his  previous  recollection,  certain  it  is  that 
some  unknown  reserve  of  strength  in  his 
own  nature,  of  which  he  knew  nothing  be- 
fore, suddenly  came  to  his  aid  in  this  ex- 
tremity. It  invested  him  with  an  uncouth 
dignity  that  for  the  first  time  excited  Grant's 
respect. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Grant,  for  the  hasty 
way  I  s]ioke  to  you  a  monumt  ago,  for  I  thank 
you,  and  n]>prcciate  thoroughly  and  sincerely 
what  you  have  done.      You  are  right ;  it  is  a 


21 G       A    FIJiST  FAMILY    OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

matter  for  figliting  and  not  fussing  over. 
But  1  must  have  a  head  to  hit.  Whose  is 
it?" 

"  The  man  who  holds  himself  legally  re- 
sponsible is  Fletcher, —  the  proprietor  of  the 
'  Clarion,'  and  a  man  of  property." 

"  The  '  Clarion  '  ?  That  is  the  paper  which 
began  the  attack?"  said  Ilarcourt. 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  only  fair  to  tell  3'ou  here 
that  your  son  threw  \\\)  his  place  on  it  in 
conse(]uence  of  its  attack  upon  you." 

There  was  perhaps  the  slightest  i)ossible 
shrinking  in  Ilarcourt's  eyelids  —  the  one 
congenital  likeness  to  his  discarded  son  — - 
but  his  otherwise  calm  demeanor  did  not 
change.  Grant  went  on  more  cheerfully  : 
"  I  've  told  you  all  I  know.  AVhen  I  spoke 
of  an  unknown  worst,  I  did  not  refer  to  any 
further  accusation,  but  to  whatever  evidence 
they  might  have  fabricated  or  suborned  to 
prove  any  one  of  them.  It  is  only  the 
strength  and  fairness  of  the  hands  they  hold 
that  is  imcertain.  Against  that  you  have 
your  certain  uncontested  possession,  the  pe- 
culiar character  and  antecedents  of  this  'Lige 
Curtis,  which  would  make  his  evidence  un- 
trustworthy and  even  make  it  difficult  for 
them  to  establish  his  identity.     I  am  told 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       217 

that  his  fiiilurc  to  contest  your  appropriation 
of  his  property  is  explained  by  the  fact  of 
liis  being  absent  from  the  country  most  of 
the  time ;  but  again,  this  wouhl  not  account 
for  their  sik;nce  until  within  the  last  six 
months,  unless  they  have  been  waiting  for 
further  evidence  to  establish  it.  But  even 
then  they  must  have  known  that  the  time  of 
recovery  had  passed.  You  are  a  practical 
man,  Ilarcourt ;  1  need  n't  tell  you  therefore 
what  your  lawyer  will  })robably  tell  you,  that 
practically,  so  far  as  your  rights  are  con- 
cerned, you  remain  as  before  these  calum- 
nies ;  that  a  cause  of  action  unprosecuted  or 
in  abeyance  is  practically  no  cause,  and  that 
it  is  not  for  you  to  anticipate  one.     But "  — 

lie  paused  and  looked  steadily  at  liar- 
court.  Ilarcourt  met  his  look  with  a  dull, 
ox-like  stolidity.  ''  I  shall  begin  the  suit  at 
once,"'  he  said. 

"And  I,"  said  Grant,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "  will  stand  by  you.  But  tell  me  now 
wliat  you  knew  of  this  man  Curtis,  —  his 
character  and  disposition  ;  it  may  be  some 
clue  as  to  what  are  his  methods  and  his  in- 
tentions." 

Ilarcourt  briefly  sketched  Lige  Cuitis  as 
he  knew  him  and  understood  him.     It  was 


218     A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASA.IAUA. 

another  indicaliou  of  Lis  rGservcd  power 
that  the  descrijdioii  was  kg  singularly  clear, 
practical,  uiijjrejndiced,  and  ini])artial  that 
it  impressed  Grant  with  its  trnthfulness. 

"  J  can't  make  him  out,"  he  said  ;  "  you 
have  drawu  a  weak,  but  neither  a  disiujuest 
nor  malignant  man.  There  must  have  been 
somebody  Ix-hind  him.  Can  you  think  of 
any  ])ersonal  enemy?" 

"  J.  lia\-e  beeii  subjected  to  the;  usual  jeal- 
ousy and  envy  of  my  old  neighbors,  I  suj>- 
pos(',  but  nothing  more.  J  have  harmed  no 
one  kiKAvingly." 

Grant  was  silent;  it  liad  flashed  across 
him  that  Jiice  might  hax'C  harbored  revenge 
for  his  father-in-law's  ijiterference  in  his 
brief  matrimonial  experience.  lie  had  also 
suddenly  recalled  his  conv(;rsation  with  IJil- 
lings  on  the  day  that  he  first  arrived  at  Ta- 
sajara.  It  wonld  not  hv.  si  range  if  this  man 
had  some  intinjati(jjj  of  the  secret.  lie  would 
ti'y  to  find  him  (hat,  ('X'ening.      lie  rose. 

''  You  will  stay  to  dinner  'i  My  wife  and 
Ck:nieji1ina  will  expect  you." 

''  Not  to-night;  1  am  dining  at  the  hotel, " 
said  Granl,  sini  jinaly  ;  "but  I  will  come  in 
later  ill  t  he  (x-cning  i  f  1  may."  JIe])aused 
hesitatingly    for  a  moment      ''  Have   your 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAHA.     219 


wiA^  and  (lanijlitcr  cn-cr  oxprospod  any  ojiin- 
inii  (111  this  uiattcr '(  " 

"  i\'(i/'  said  llarcoiirt.  "  ^Mrs.  Ilarpcnii-f, 
knows  iiotliiiiji'  of  anythinii'  that  doos  not. 
ha])|)('u  in  tho  lionsc  ;  Euphcniia  knows  only 
the  Ihinji'^^  that  hap])eii  out  (tf  it  where;  she 
is  \isitinir  —  and  1  sii]iposo  tliat  youiifi'  mcin 
jirofer  to  talk  to  hor  about  otlicr  things  than 
tho  slanders  of  her  father.  And  ('lenien- 
tiiia  —  well,  yon  know  liow  calm  and  su- 
})erior  to  thes(>  thin^i^'s  ,s7/r;  is." 

'^  For  that  yery  reason  I  thono:ht  tliat  ]H;r- 
liaj)s  she  iiiiaht  be  able  to  see  iIkmii  more 
elearly,  —  but  no  uiatt(!]'!  1  daiH^  say  you 
are  quite  riu'ht  in  nc^t  discnissiuG;  them  at 
home."  Tills  was  the  fact,  althon^'h  Grant 
had  iKit  forii'olfcn  that  Ilarcourt  had  ])ut 
forward  his  dauabtcrs  as  a  reason  foi*  stoji- 
])iniX  the  scandal  some  weeks  ])efoiH\  - — a 
reason  which,  ho\ve\'er,  seeme(l  nc\-er  to 
lia\'e  been  borne  out  by  any  a])parent  s<;nsi- 
ti\'eness  of  liic  j^irls  lhemscl\-cs. 

When  (ii'aiil  had  left,  Jhu'court  remained 
foi-  -oine  iiK^mcnts  .steadfastly  ^-azinir  from 
th(^  window  over  the  'I'a-ajara  plain.  lie 
had  not  jo-^t  liis  look  of  concentrated  ])ower, 
nor  hi,-  <!eti'rmiiiati"ii  !o  ili^bt.  .V  strna'i^le 
Ix'tween    him-idf   and    the    phantoms   of   the 


220      A   FIJiST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJAEA. 

past  had  become  now  a  necessary  stimulus 
for  its  own  sake,  —  for  the  sake  of  his  men- 
tal and  physical  ecpiipoise.  He  saw  before 
him  the  pale,  agitated,  irresolute  features  of 
"Lige  Curtis,  —  not  the  man  he  had  injured, 
but  the  man  who  had  injured  him,  whose 
spirit  was  aimlessly  and  wantonly  —  for  he 
had  never  attem2:)ted  to  get  back  his  posses- 
sions in  his  lifetime,  nor  ever  tried  to  com- 
municate with  the  possessor  —  striking  at 
him  in  the  shadow.  And  it  was  that  man, 
that  pale,  writhing,  frightened  wretch  whom 
he  had  once  mercifully  helped  I  Yes,  whose 
life  he  had  even  saved  that  night  from  ex- 
posure and  delirium  tremens  when  he  had 
given  him  the  whiskey.  And  this  life  he  had 
saved,  only  to  have  it  set  in  motion  a  con- 
spiracy to  ruin  him  !  AVho  knows  that  'Lige 
had  not  purposely  conceived  what  they 
had  believed  to  be  an  attempt  at  suicide, 
only  to  cast  suspicion  of  murder  on  him! 
From  which  it  will  be  perceived  that  Har- 
court's  powers  of  moral  reasoning  had  not 
improved  in  five  years,  and  that  even  the 
impartiality  he  iiad  just  shown  in  his  descrip- 
tion of  Lige  to  Grant  had  been  swallowed 
up  in  tliis  new  sense  of  injury.  The  founder 
of  Tasajara,  whose  cool  biisiness  logic,  un- 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.       221 

failing  foresight,  and  practical  deductions 
were  never  at  fault,  was  once  more  childislily 
adrift  in  his  moral  ethics. 

And  there  was  Clementina,  of  whose  judg- 
ment Grant  had  spoken  so  persistently,  — 
coidd  she  assist  him  ?  It  was  true,  as  he  had 
said,  he  had  never  talked  to  her  of  his  affairs. 
In  his  sometimes  uneasy  consciousness  of  her 
superiority  he  had  shrunk  from  even  reveal- 
ing his  anxieties,  much  less  his  actual  secret, 
and  from  anything  that  might  prejudice  the 
lofty  paternal  attitude  he  had  taken  towards 
his  daujiliters  froin  the  beginning  of  his  a'ood 
fortune.  He  was  never  quite  sure  if  her  ac- 
ceptance of  it  was  real ;  he  was  never  entirely 
free  froni  a  certain  jealousy  that  always  min- 
gled with  his  pride  in  her  superior  rectitude  ; 
and  yet  his  feeling  was  distinct  from  the 
good-natured  contempt  he  had  for  his  wife's 
loyalty,  the  anger  and  suspicion  that  his  son's 
opposition  had  provoked,  and  the  half-affec- 
tionate toleration  he  had  felt  for  Euphemia's 
waywardness.  However  he  would  sound 
Clementina  without  hotraying  himself. 

lie  was  anticipated  hy  a  slight  step  in  the 
passage  and  the  pushing  open  of  his  study 
door.  The  tall,  graceful  figure  of  the  girl 
herself  stood  in  the  opening. 


222       A    FJRSr   FAMIL  Y   OF   TASAJARA. 

"  They  tell  me  Mr.  Grant  has  been  here. 
Does  he  stay  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  No,  he  has  an  engagement  at  the  hotel, 
but  he  will  probably  drop  in  later.  Come 
in,  Clemmy,  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Shut 
the  door  and  sit  down.'' 

She  slipped  in  quietly,  shut  the  door,  took 
a  seat  on  the  sofa,  softly  smoothed  down  her 
gown,  and  turned  her  graceful  head  and  se- 
renely composed  face  towards  him.  Sitting 
thus  she  looked  like  some  finely  finished 
painting  that  decorated  rather  than  belonged 
to  the  room,  —  not  only  distinctly  alien  to 
the  flesh  and  blood  relative  before  her.  but 
to  the  house,  and  even  the  local,  monotonous 
landscape  beyond  the  window  with  the  shin- 
ing new  shingles  and  chimneys  that  cut  tlie 
new  blue  sky.  These  singular  perfections 
seemed  to  increase  in  Ilarcourt's  mind  the 
exasperating  sense  of  injury  inflicted  upon 
him  by  'Lige's  exposures.  AVith  a  daughter 
so  incomparably  gifted,  —  a  matchless  crea- 
tion that  was  enough  in  herself  to  ennoble 
tliat  fortune  which  his  own  skill  and  genius 
had  lifted  from  the  muddy  tales  of  Ta- 
sajara  where  this  "Lige  had  left  it,  —  thut 
.sAe  should  be  suljjected  to  this  annoyance 
seemed  an  infamy  that  Providence  couid  not 


A  FlIiST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA.     223 

allow!  W'liat  wa^  his  iiiero  venial  li'aiis- 
,a,rc>si(iii  to  this  rxau'uvratcd  retril)iilioii  ( 

"  Clciinny,  u'ii'l,  I'm  goino-  fo  ask  you  a 
qnc'srioii.  l.istoii,  pet."  Ilo  had  b(',<2:uu  with 
a  I'C'ininiseoiit  tondoriioss  of  tlio  opoch  of  ]k>i' 
childhood,  but  mcotiuij  tho  nu respond iiii^ 
uuitu.rity  of  her  clear  eyes  he  al)aiidoucd  it. 
■■■  '^'ou  kiKjw,  Clementina,  1  ha^^c  never  inter- 
fered in  your  affairs,  nor  tried  to  iniluence 
your  friendships  for  anybody.  Whatever 
people  may  ha\'e  to  say  of  me  they  can't  say 
that:  J"ve  always  trusted  you,  as  1  would 
mystdf,  to  choose  your  own  associates;  I 
have  never  reu'i'etted  it,  and  1  (hju't  regret 
it  now.  Ijtit  rd  like  to  know  —  I  have 
reas(.)ns  to-day  for  asking  —  how  matters 
stand  Ijotween  you  and  Grant." 

Idle  Parian  head  of  ^Mineiwa  on  the 
])o(ikca>e  abo\-e  hei'  did  not  otter  the  specta- 
ti>r  a  face  le>.-  free  from  maidenly  confusion 
than  C'lemenl ilia's  at  that  moment.  Her 
father  had  certaiidy  expected  iione,  but  he 
wa>  not  ])re]iared  f(U'  tln'  perfect  coolness 
(d'  her  rejily. 

"•  I  )o  you  mean,  ha\-e  I  accepted  \\\n\V 

'•  \w,  —  well  — v,-;- 

'■  .\m,  ihcu!  L-  that  what  he  wished  to 
se(^  vou  abiiui  {      ]f  ^\•as  understood  thai   he 


224      -1   FIIiST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAEA. 

was  not  to  allude  again  to  the  subject  to  anv 
one." 

"  He  has  not  to  me.  It  was  only  my  own 
idea.  He  had  something  very  different  to 
tell  me.  You  may  not  know,  Clementina," 
he  begun  cautiously,  "  that  I  have  been 
lately  the  subject  of  some  anonymous  slan- 
ders, and  Grant  has  taken  the  trouble  to 
track  them  down  for  me.  It  is  a  calumny 
that  goes  back  as  far  as  Sidon,  and  I  may 
want  your  level  head  and  good  memory  to 
help  me  to  refute  it."  He  then  repeated 
calmly  and  clearly,  with  no  trace  of  the  fury 
that  had  raged  within  him  a  moment  before, 
the  substance  of  Grant's  revelation. 

The  young  girl  listened  without  apparent 
emotion.  ^\"hen  he  had  finished  she  said 
quickly  :  "  And  what  do  you  want  me  to 
recollect  ?  " 

The  hardest  part  of  Harcourt's  task  was 
coming.  "  Well,  don't  you  remember  that  I 
told  you  the  day  the  surveyors  went  away 
—  that  —  I  had  bought  this  land  of  'Lige 
Curtis  some  time  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  your  saying  so,  but '" — • 

"  But  what  ?  " 

"  1  thought  you  only  meant  that  to  satisfy 
mother." 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.       225 

Daniel  Ilarcourt  felt  the  blood  settling 
round  his  heart,  but  he  was  constrained  by 
an  irroeistible  impulse  to  know  the  worst. 
"  Well,  what  did  you  think  it  really  was  ?  " 

"  I  only  thought  that  'Lige  Curtis  had 
simply  let  you  have  it,  that  's  all." 

Ilarcourt  breathed  again.  "  But  what 
for?     Why  should  he  ?  " 

"  Well  —  071  my  account.''^ 

"  On  your  account !  What  in  Heaven's 
name  had  you  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  He  loved  me."  There  was  not  the  slight- 
est trace  of  vanity,  self -consciousness  or 
coquetry  in  her  quiet,  fateful  face,  and  for 
this  very  reason  Ilarcourt  knew  that  she  was 
speaking  the  truth. 

"  Loved  you  !  —  you,  Clementina  !  —  my 
daugliter  I      Did  ho  ever  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Not  in  words.     He  used  to  walk  up  and 

down  on  the  road  when  I  was  at  the  back 

window  or  in  the  garden,  and  often    hung 

about  the  bank  of  the  creek  for  hours,  like 

some  animal.      I  don't  think  the  others  saw 

him,  and  when  they  did  they  thought  it  was 

Parmlee  for   Euphemia.      Even   Euphemia 

thought  so  too,  and  that  was  why  she  was  so 

conceited  and  hard  to  Parndee  towards  the 

end.     She  thought  it  was  Parmlee  that  night 
H— Bret  Ilarte  v    i^ 


226      A   FIRUT  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

when  Graut  and  Rice  came  ;  but  it  was  'Lige 
Curtis  who  had  been  watching  the  window 
lights  in  the  rain,  and  who  must  have  gone 
off  at  last  to  speak  to  you  in  the  store.  1 
always  let  Pheiniu  believe  that  it  was  Parm- 
lee,  — it  seemed  to  please  her." 

There  was  not  the  least  tone  of  mischief 
or  superiority,  or  even  of  patronage  in  her 
manner.  It  v/as  as  quiet  and  cruel  as  the 
fate  that  might  have  led  "Ligo  to  his  de- 
struction. Even  her  father  felt  a  slight  thrill 
of  awe  as  she  paused.  "  Then  he  never 
really  spoke  to  you  ?  "  he  asked  liurriedly. 

"  Only  once.  I  was  gathering  swamp  lilies 
all  alone,  a  mile  below  the  bend  of  the  creelc, 
and  he  came  upon  me  suddenly.  Perhaps  it 
was  that  I  did  n't  jump  or  start  —  /  did  n't 
see  anything  to  jumj)  or  start  at  —  that  he 
said,  '  You  're  not  frightened  at  me,  Miss 
Harcourt,  like  the  other  girls  ?  You  don't 
think  I  'm  drunk  or  half  mad  —  as  tiiey  do  ?  ' 
I  don't  remember  exactly  what  I  said,  l)ut  it 
meant  tliat  wlietlier  he  was  drunk  or  lialf 
mad  or  so])er  I  did  n't  see  any  reason  to  lie 
afraid  of  him,  Ajid  then  he  told  me  tiiat 
if  I  was  fond  of  swamp  lilies  1  miglit  liavo 
all  I  wanted  at  his  })hice,  and  for  the  matter 
of  that  the  place  too,  as  he  was  going  away,  for 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.      227 

he  could  n't  stand  the  loneliness  any  longer, 
lie  said  that  he  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  place  and  the  people  —  no  more  than  / 
had  —  and  that  was  what  he  had  always 
fancied  in  me.  I  told  him  that  if  he  felt  in 
that  way  about  his  place  he  ought  to  leave  it, 
or  sell  it  to  some  one  who  cared  for  it,  and 
go  away.  That  must  have  been  in  his  mind 
when  he  offered  it  to  you,  —  at  least  that 's 
what  I  thought  Vv'heii  you  told  us  you  had 
bought  it.  I.  did  n't  know  but  w^hat  he  might 
have  told  you,  but  you  did  n't  care  to  say  it 
before  mother." 

Ivlr.  llarcourt  sat  gazing  at  her  with 
brt-atlufss  amazement.  "  And  you  —  think 
that  —  'Ligo  Curtis  —  lov  —  liked  you  ?  " 

'•  Yes,  1  think  he  did — and  that  he  does 
now !  "' 

'•  Aov/)  /  Vriiat  do  you  mean  ?  The  man 
is  dead  I  "   said  llarcourt  starting. 

'•  That  's  just  what  I  don't  believe." 

"  Impossible  !  Think  of  what  you  arc 
saying." 

''  1  never  could  quite  understand  or  feel 
that  he  was  dead  when  everybody  said  so, 
and  now  tliat  I  've  Jicard  tliis  story  I  hium; 
that  he  is  living,"' 

"  F>ut  wliy  did  ho  not  make  himself  knov.'u 
in  time  to  claim  t-i;-  ]);'-:v-vrty  ?  " 


228       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA. 

"  Because  he  did  not  care  for  it." 

"  What  did  he  care  for,  then  ?  " 

"Me,  I  suppose." 

"  But  this  calumny  is  not  like  a  man  who 
loves  you." 

"It  is  like  Sb  jealous  one." 

With  an  effort  llarcourt  threw  off  his 
bewildered  incredulity  and  grasped  the  situa- 
tion. He  would  have  to  contend  with  his 
enemy  in  the  flesh  and  blood,  but  that  flesh 
and  blood  would  be  very  weak  in  the  hands 
of  the  impassive  girl  beside  him.  His  face 
lightened. 

The  same  idea  might  have  been  in  Clem- 
entina's mind  when  she  spoke  again,  al- 
though her  face  had  remained  unchanged. 
"  I  do  not  see  win-  yo^.i  sliould  bother  youi'- 
self  further  about  it,"  she  said.  "  It  is  only 
a  matter  between  myself  and  him ;  you  can 
leave  it  to  me." 

"  But  if  you  are  mistaken  and  he  should 
not  be  living?  " 

"  I  am  not  mistaken.  I  am  even  certain 
now  tliat  I  have  seen  liim." 

"  Seen  him  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl  with  the  first  trace 
of  animation  in  h(^r  face.  "  It  was  four  or 
five  months  ago  when  we  were  visiting  the 


A   FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJAIiA.       229 

Briones  at  ^Monterey.  We  had  ridden  out 
to  the  old  iVIission  by  moonlight.  There 
were  some  Mexicans  lounging  around  the 
j)0,'<ad(i,  and  one  of  them  attracted  my  atten- 
tion by  the  way  he  seemed  to  watch  me, 
without  revealing  any  more  of  his  face  than 
I  could  see  between  his  scrape  and  the  black 
silk  handkerchief  that  was  tied  around  his 
head  under  his  sombrero.  But  I  knew  he 
was  an  American  —  and  his  eyes  were  fa- 
miliar.    I  believe  it  was  he." 

"•  Why  did  you  not  speak  of  it  before  ?  " 

The  look  of  animation  died  out  of  the 
girl's  face.  "Why  should  I?"  she  said 
listlessly.  "  I  did  not  know  of  these  reports 
then.  He  was  nothing  more  to  us.  You 
would  n't  have  cared  to  see  him  airain-" 
She  rose,  smoothed  out  her  skirt  and  stood 
looking  at  her  father.  "•  Thei-e  is  one  thing, 
of  course,  that  you  "11  do  at  once." 

Her  voice  had  changed  so  oddly  that  he 
said  quickly  :  "  What  "s  that  ?  " 

"Crxll  Grant  off  the  scent.  He  '11  only 
frighten  or  exasperate^  your  game,  and  that 's 
what  you  don't  want."' 

Her  voice  was  as  im])erious  as  it  had  been 
previously  listless.  And  it  was  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  known  her  to  use  slanir. 


230      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

It  seemed  as  startling  as  if  it  had  fallen 
from  tlic  marble  lips  above  him. 

"  But  I  've  pvouiised  him  that  we  should 
go  together  to  my  lawyer  to-morrow,  and  be- 
gin a  suit  against  the  proprietors  of  the 
'Clarion.'" 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Get  rid  of 
Grant's  assistance  in  this  matter ;  and  see 
the  '  Clarion  '  proprietor  yourself.  AVhat 
sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?  Can  you  invite  him  to 
your  house  ?  " 

"  I  have  neA'cr  seen  him  ;  I  believe  he 
lives  at  San  Jose.  lie  is  a  wealthy  man 
puid  a  large  land  ovrr.er  there.  You  under- 
stand that  after  the  urst  article  appeared  in 
his  paper,  and  I  knew  that  he  had  employed 
your  brother  —  although  Grant  says  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it  and  left  Fletcher 
on  account  of  it  —  I  could  have  no  inter- 
course witli  him.  Even  if  I  invited  him  he 
would  not  come." 

"  He  viust  come.  Leave  it  to  me."  She 
stopped  and  resumed  her  former  impassive 
manner.  "  I  had  something  to  say  to  you 
too,  father.  I\Ir.  Shi])ley  proposed  to  me 
the  day  we  v>'ent  to  San  Mateo." 

Iler  father's  eyes  lit  with  an  eager  sparlde. 
"  Well,"  he  said  quickly. 


A   FIRUT  FAMILY   UF   TA&AJAKA.       231 

"  I  reminded  him  that  I  had  known  him 
only  a  few  weeks,  and  that  I  wanted  time  to 
consider." 

"  Consider  !  Why,  Clemmy,  h.o  's  one  of 
the  oldest  Boston  families,  ricli  from  liis 
father  and  grandfather  —  rich  wlicn  I  was  a 
s]io})koe])er  and  your  mother  "  — 

"  I  thought  you  liked  Grant  ?  "  she  said 
quietly. 

"  Yes,  but  if  )jou  have  no  choice  nor  feel- 
ing in  the  matter,  why  Shipley  is  far  tlie 
better  man.  And  if  any  of  the  seand;d 
shoidd  come  to  liis  ears  "  — 

"  So  much  the  better  that  the  hesitation 
should  eonic  from  mo.  But  if  you  think  it 
better,  I  can  sit  down  hero  and  write  to  him 
at  once  declining  tlie  offer."  She  moved 
towards  tlie  desk. 

"No!  No!  I  did  not  mean  that,"  said 
Ilarcourt  quickly.  "  I  only  thought  that  if 
he  did  hear  anything  it  might  be  said  that 
he  had  backed  out." 

"  His  sister  knows  of  his  offer,  and  thougli 
she  don't  like  it  nor  mo,  she  will  not  deny 
tliG  fact.  By  the  way,  you  remember  when 
she  was  lost  that  any  on  the  road  to  San 
Mateo'?" 

"  Yes." 


232      A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

"  Well,  she  was  with  your  son,  John  Mil- 
ton, all  tlie  time,  and  they  lunched  together 
at  Crystal  Spring.  It  came  out  quite  acci- 
dentally through  the  hotel-keeper." 

Harcourt's  brow  darkened.  "  Did  she 
know  him  before  ?  '' 

"  I  can't  say ;  but  she  does  now." 

Harcourt's  face  was  heavy  with  distrust. 
"  Taking  Shipley's  offer  and  these  scandals 
into  consideration,  I  don't  like  the  look  of 
this,  Clementina." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  girl  simply. 

Harcourt  gazed  at  her  keenly  and  with 
the  shadow  of  distrust  still  upon  him.  It 
seemed  to  be  quite  impossible,  even  with 
what  he  knew  of  her  calmly  cold  nature, 
that  she  should  be  equally  uninfluenced  by 
Grant  or  Shipley.  Had  she  some  stead- 
fast, lofty  ideal,  or  perliaps  some  already  ab- 
sorbing passion  of  which  he  knew  nothing  ? 
She  was  not  a  girl  to  betray  it  —  they  would 
only  know  it  when  it  was  too  late.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  there  was  still  something 
between  her  and  'Lige  that  he  knew  nothing 
of?  The  thought  struck  a  chill  to  his  breast. 
She  was  walking  towards  tlie  door,  when  he 
recalled  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  if  vou  think  it  advisable  to  see  Fletcher, 


A    FIRST  FA.\fILY   OF   TASAJAEA.       233 

you  luight  run  down  to  San  eJose  for  a  day 
or  two  with  your  mother,  and  call  on  the 
Ramirez.  They  may  know  him  or  somebody 
who  does.  Of  course  if  you  meet  him  and 
casually  invite  him  it  would  be  different." 

'•  It  "s  a  good  idea,"'  she  said  quickly. 
"  I'll  do  it,  and  speak  to  mother  now." 

He  was  struck  by  the  change  in  her  face 
and  voice  ;  they  had  both  nervously  light- 
ened, as  oddly  and  distinctly'  as  they  had  be- 
fore seemed  to  grow  suddenly  harsh  and 
aggressive.  She  passed  out  of  the  room 
with  girlish  l)rusqueness,  leaving  him  alone 
with  a  new  and  vague  fear  in  his  conscious- 
ness. 

A  few  hours  later  Clementina  was  stand- 
ing before  the  window  of  the  drawing-room 
tliat  overlooked  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 
The  moonlight  was  Hooding  the  vast  bluish 
Tasajara  levels  with  a  faint  lustre,  as  if  the 
waters  of  the  creek  had  once  more  returned 
to  them.  In  the  shadow  of  the  curtain  be- 
side her  Grant  was  facing  her  with  anxious 
eyes. 

'•  Then  T  must  talvc  this  as  your  final  an- 
swer, Clementina  ?  "' 

"  You  must.     And  had  I  known  of  these 


234       A   FIRST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA. 

calumnies  before,  had  you  been  frank  with 
me  even  the  day  we  went  to  San  Mateo,  my 
answer  would  have  been  as  final  then,  and 
you  might  have  been  spared  any  further 
suspense.  I  am  not  blaming  you,  Mr. 
Grant ;  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  you 
thought  it  best  to  conceal  this  from  me,  — 
even  at  that  time  when  you  had  just  pledged 
yourself  to  find  out  its  truth  or  falsehood,  — 
yet  my  answer  would  have  been  the  same. 
So  long  as  this  stain  rests  on  my  father's 
name  I  shall  never  allow  that  name  to  be 
coupled  with  yours  in  marriage  or  engage- 
ment ;  nor  will  my  pride  or  yours  allow  us 
to  carry  on  a  simple  friendship  after  this. 
I  thank  you  for  your  offer  of  assistance,  but 
I  cannot  even  accept  that  which  might  to 
others  seem  to  allow  some  contingent  claim. 
I  would  rather  l)elieve  that  when  you  pro- 
posed this  inquiry  and  my  father  permitted 
it,  you  both  knew  that  it  put  an  end  to  any 
other  relations  between  us." 

"  Jiut,  Clementina,  you  are  wrong,  believe 
me  !  Say  tliat  1  have  been  foolish,  indiscreet, 
mad,  —  still  the  few  who  knew  that  I  made 
these  in(juiries  on  your  father's  Ijehalf  know 
nothing  of  my  liopes  of  you  I  " 

"  But  /do,  and  that  is  enough  for  me." 


A    FlliiiT   FAMILY   OF   TAl<AJARA.       235 

Even  in  tlio  liopeless  prcoccnpation  of  his 
passion  he  siiilJouly  looked  at  lier  with 
soniethini;-  of  his  old  critical  scrntiuy.  ])at 
she  stood  there  calm,  concentrated,  self-pos- 
sessed and  upright.  Yes  I  it  was  possiljle 
that  the  pride  of  this  Sontliwestern  shop- 
keeper's daug-htcr  was  greater  V.\?a\  l;is  ov.'n, 

''  Then  you  banisli  me,  Cle;nentina  ?  " 

"  It  is  wc  whom  ijon  have  banished." 

"  (Jood-night." 

"  Good-l.y." 

He  bent  for  an  instant  over  her  cold  hand, 
and  then  passed  out  into  the  hall.  She  re- 
mained listening  until  the  front  door  closed 
beliir.d  liim.  Then  she  ran  swiftly  through 
the  lu'.ll  and  u])  tlie  staircase,  v/ith  an  alac- 
rity tliat  seemed  impossible  to  the  stately 
goddess  of  a  moment  before.  When  she  had 
reached  her  bedroom  and  closed  tlie  door,  so 
exuberant  still  and  so  uncontrollable  vras 
her  levity  and  action,  tliat  VT'ithout  going 
round  the  l)ed  which  stood  before  her  in  the 
centre  of  the  r')om.  she  })laeed  her  two  hands 
upon  it  and  lightly  vaulted  sideways  across 
it  to  reach  tlie  v.indo\\-.  There  she  watched 
the  figure  of  (h'ant  crossing  the  mooidit 
s(piai'e.  Tly.'u  terning  back  into  the  half- 
lit  room.,  she  ran  to  the  small  dressincr-u'l.'iss 


236       A   FIRST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA. 

placed  at  an  angle  on  a  toilet  table  against 
the  wall.  With  her  pahns  grasping  her 
knees  she  stooped  down  suddenly  and  con- 
templated the  mirror.  It  showed  what  no 
one  but  Clementina  had  ever  seen,  —  and 
she  herself  only  at  rare  intervals,  —  the 
laughing  eyes  and  soul  of  a  self-satisfied, 
material-minded,  ordinary  country-girl ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

Bt'T  Mr.  La\vrcnce  Grant's  character  in 
certain  circnmstances  would  seem  to  have  as 
startling  and  inexplicable  contrtulictions  as 
Clementina  Ilarcourt's,  and  three  days  later 
he  halted  his  horse  at  the  entrance  of  Los 
Gatos  Kancho.  The  Home  of  the  Cats  — 
so  called  from  the  catamounts  which  infested 
the  locality  —  which  had  for  over  a  cen- 
tury lazily  basked  before  one  of  the  hottest 
carions  in  the  Coast  Range,  had  lately  been 
stirred  into  sonu^  activity  by  the  American, 
Don  Diego  Fletcher,  wlio  had  bought  it,  put 
up  a  saw-mill,  and  deforested  the  canon. 
Still  there  remained  enough  suggestion  of  a 
feline  haunt  about  it  to  make  Crrant  feel  as 
if  he  had  tracked  hither  some  stealthy  enemy, 
in  spite  of  the  peaceful  intimation  conveyed 
by  the  sign  on  a  rough  boarded  shed  at  the 
wayside,  that  the  "  Los  Gatos  Land  and 
Lumber  Company  "  held  their  oftice  there. 

A  cigarette-smoking  ))eon  lounged  before 
the  door.     Yes  ;  Don  Diego  was  there,  but 


238       A   FIKST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJAJiA. 

as  he  had  arrived  from  Santa  Clara  only  last 
night  and  was  going-  to  Colonel  Ramirez  that 
afternoon,  he  was  engaged.  Unless  the  busi- 
ness was  important  —  but  the  cool,  deter- 
mined manner  of  Grant,  even  more  than 
his  words,  signiiied  that  it  ivas  important, 
and  the  servant  led  the  way  to  Don  Diego's 
presence. 

There  certainly  was  nothing  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  this  sylvan  proprietor  and  news- 
paper capitalist  to  justify  Grant's  suspicion 
of  a  surreptitious  foe.  A  hraidsome  man 
scarcely  older  than  himself,  in  s])ite  of  a 
wavy  mass  of  perfectly  white  hair  which  con- 
trasted singularly  v/ith  his  brown  mustache 
and  dark  sunburned  face.  So  disguising 
was  the  effect  of  these  contradictions,  that 
he  not  only  looked  unlike  anybody  else,  but 
even  his  nationality  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of 
doubt.  Only  his  eyes,  light  blue  and  intel- 
ligent, wdiicli  had  a  singular  expression  of 
gentleness  and  worry,  appeared  individual  to 
the  man.  His  manner  was  cultivated  and 
easy.  He  motioned  his  visitor  courteously 
to  a  chair. 

"  I  was  referred  to  you,"  said  Grant,  nl- 
most  abruptly,  "as  the  person  responsil'.j 
for   a   series   of    slanderous   attacks  auainst 


A    FIRST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJAIiA.       239 

Mr.  Dauiel  llurcourt  in  the  '  Clariou,'  of 
which  [)iiper  1  believe  you  are  the  proprie- 
tor. 1  was  told  that  you  declined  to  give  the 
authority  for  yoiu"  action,  unless  you  were 
forced  to  by  legal  proceedings." 

Fletcher's  sensitive  blue  eyes  rested  upon 
Grant's  with  an  expression  of  constrained 
pain  and  pity.  '"  1  heard  of  your  inquiries, 
Mr,  Grant ;  you  were  making  them  on  be- 
half of  this  Mr.  Ilarcourt  orllarkutt"  — 
he  made  the  distinction  with  intentional 
deliberation  — "  with  a  view,  1  believe,  to 
some  arbitration.  The  case  was  stated  to 
you  fairly,  I  think ;  1  believe  1  have  nothing 
to  add  to  it." 

'"  That  was  your  answer  to  the  ambassador 
of  Mr.  Ilarcourt,"  said  Grant,  coldly,  "and 
as  such  I  delivered  it  to  him  ;  but  I  am  here 
to-day  to  speak  on  my  own  account." 

What  could  be  seen  of  Mr.  Fletcher's 
lips  ap))cared  to  curl  in  an  odd  smile.  "  In- 
deed, 1  thought  it  WTis  —  or  would  be  —  all 
in  the  family." 

Grant's  face  grew  more  stern,  and  his  gray 
eyes  glittered.  "  You  "11  find  my  stdtus  in 
this  matter  so  far  indej^endeJit  that  I  don't 
propose,  like  I\Ir.  lIar.;ourt,  either  to  begin 
a  suit  or  to  rest  (|uielly  under  the  calumny. 


240       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

Briefly,  Mr.  Fletcher,  as  you  or  your  inform- 
ant knows,  I  was  the  surveyor  who  revealed 
to  Mr.  Harcourt  the  value  of  the  land  to 
which  he  claimed  a  title  from  your  man,  — 
this  Elijah  or  Lige  Curtis  as  you  call  him," 
—  he  could  not  resist  this  imitation  of  his 
adversary's  supercilious  affectation  of  precise 
nomenclature,  —  "  and  it  w^as  upon  my  repre- 
sentation of  its  value  as  an  investment  that 
he  began  the  improvements  which  have  made 
him  wealthy.  If  this  title  was  fraudulently 
obtained,  all  the  facts  pertaining  to  it  are 
sufficiently  related  to  connect  me  with  the 
conspiracy." 

"  Are  you  not  a  little  hasty  in  your  pre- 
sumption, Mr.  Grant?"  said  Fletcher,  with 
unfeigned  surprise. 

"  That  is  for  me  to  judge,  Mr.  Fletcher," 
returned  Grant,  haughtily. 

"  But  the  name  of  Professor  Grant  is 
known  to  all  California  as  beyond  the  breath 
of  calumny  or  suspicion." 

"It  is  because  of  that  fact  tliat  I  propose 
to  keep  it  so." 

"  jVnd  may  I  ask  in  what  way  you  wish  me 
to  assist  you  in  so  doing  ?  " 

"  By  promptly  and  publicly  retracting  in 
the  '  Clarion  '  every  word  of  this  slander 
aerainst  Harcourt." 


A   FIRST  FAMILY    OF    TASAJAIiA.       241 

Fletcher  looked  steadfastly  at  the  speaker. 
"  And  if  I  decline  ?  " 

"  1  think  you  have  been  long  enough  in 
California,  Mr.  Fletcher,  to  know  the  alter- 
native expected  of  a  gentleman,"  said  Grant, 
coldly. 

Mr.  Fletcher  kept  his  gentle  blue  eyes  — 
in  which  surprise  still  overbalanced  their 
expression  of  pained  concern  —  on  Grant's 
face. 

"  But  is  not  this  more  in  the  style  of 
Colonel  Starbottle  than  Professor  Grant  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  a  faint  smile. 

Grant  rose  instantly  witli  a  white  face. 
"  Yoii  will  have  a  better  opportunity  of  judg- 
ing," he  said,  "  when  Colonel  Starbottle  has 
the  honor  of  waiting  upon  you  from  me. 
Meantime,  I  thank  you  for  reminding  me  of 
the  indiscretion  into  which  my  folly,  in  still 
believing  that  this  thing  could  be  settled  ami- 
cably, has  led  me." 

He  bowed  coldly  and  withdrew.  Never- 
theless, as  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
away,  he  felt  his  cheeks  burning.  Yet  he 
had  acted  upon  calm  consideration  ;  he  knew 
that  to  the  ordinary  Calif ornian  experience 
there  was  nothing  quixotic  nor  exaggerated 
in  the  ^xttitude   he    had   taken.      Men  had 


242      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T  AS  AJAR  A. 

quarreled  aud  f  ouglit  on  less  grounds ;  he 
had  even  half  convinced  himself  that  he  had 
been  insulted,  aud  that  his  own  professional 
reputation  demanded  the  withdrawal  of 
the  attack  on  Ilarcourt  on  purely  business 
grounds  ;  but  he  was  not  satisfied  of  the 
personal  responsibility  of  Fletcher  nor  of 
his  gratuitous  malignity.  Nor  did  the  man 
look  like  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  some  unscru- 
pulous and  hidden  enemy.  However,  he  had 
played  his  card.  If  he  succeeded  only  in 
provoking  a  duel  with  Fletcher,  he  at  least 
would  divert  the  public  attention  from  Har- 
court  to  himself.  He  knew  that  his  superior 
})Osition  w^ould  throw  the  lesser  victim  in  the 
background.  He  would  make  the  sacrifice  ; 
that  was  his  duty  as  a  gentleman,  even  if  sJie 
would  not  care  to  accept  it  as  an  earnest  of 
his  unselfish  love ! 

He  had  reached  the  point  where  the  moun- 
tain track  entered  the  Santa  Clara  turnpike 
when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  hand- 
some but  old-fashioned  carriage  drawn  by 
four  white  mules,  which  passed  dow^n  the 
road  before  him  and  turned  suddenly  off  into 
a  })rivate  road.  But  it  was  not  this  pictur- 
es(|ue  gala  e({ui|»agc  of  some  local  S})auish 
GTaudee  that  broujrht  a  thrill  to  his  nerves  and 


A    FIICS7'   FJAflLi'   OF    'JASA.JARA.       243 

a  Hash  to  his  eye ;  it  was  tlic  unniista1cal)h3, 
tall,  elegant  figure  and  handsome  profile  oi 
Clementina,  reclining  in  light  gauzy  wraps 
againfit  the  back  seat !  It  was  no  fanciful 
resemhlance,  the  outcome  of  liis  reverie,  — 
there  never  was  any  one  like  her  !  —  it  ivas 
she  herself  !     But  what  was  she  doing  here? 

A  vorp(ero  cantered  from  tlie  cross  road 
where  the  dust  of  the  vehicle  still  hung. 
Grant  hailed  him.  Ah !  it  was  a  fine  car- 
roza  lie  cuatro  miJas  that  he  had  just 
passed !  Si,  Seiior,  truly  ;  it  was  of  Don 
Jose  Karairez,  who  lived  just  imder  the  hill. 
It  was  bringing  company  to  the  cai«'. 

Karairez  !  That  v.as  v, here  Fletcher  v/as 
going !  Had  Clementina  known  that  he  v.as 
one  of  Fletcher's  friends  ?  i>Iight  she  not  bo 
exposed  to  Tinpleasantness.  marked  coolness, 
or  even  Insult  in  that  unexpected  meeting? 
Ought  she  not  to  be  warned  or  pre})ared  for 
it  ?  She  had  banished  Graiit  from  her  pres- 
ence until  this  stain  was  removed  from  her 
father's  name,  but  could  she  blame  him  for 
trying  to  save  her  from  contact  with  her 
father's  slanderer  ?  Xo !  He  turned  his 
horse  abruptly  into  the  cross  road  ai\d 
spurred  f(Hnvard  in  the  direction  of  the  ctsa. 

It  was  (piite  visible  now  —  a  low- walled, 


244      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

quadrangular  mass  of  whitewashed  adobe 
lying  like  a  drift  on  the  green  hillside.  The 
carriage  and  four  had  far  preceded  him, 
and  was  already  half  up  the  winding  road 
towards  the  house.  Later  he  saw  them 
reach  the  courtyard  and  disappear  within, 
lie  would  be  quite  in  time  to  speak  with  her 
before  she  retired  to  change  her  dress.  He 
would  simply  say  that  while  making  a  pro- 
fessional visit  to  Los  Gatos  Land  Company 
office  he  had  become  aware  of  Fletcher's 
connection  with  it,  and  accidentally  of  his 
intended  visit  to  Ramirez.  His  chance 
meeting  with  the  carriage  on  the  highway 
had  determined  his  course. 

x\s  he  rode  into  the  courtyard  he  observed 
that  it  was  also  approached  by  another  road, 
evidently  nearer  Los  Gatos,  and  probably 
the  older  and  shorter  communication  be- 
tween the  two  ranchos.  The  fact  was  sig- 
nificantly demonstrated  a  moment  later. 
He  had  given  his  horse  to  a  servant,  sent  in 
his  card  to  Clementina,  and  had  dropped 
listlessly  on  one  of  the  benches  of  the  gal- 
lery surrounding  the  pa^fo,  when  a  horse- 
man rode  briskly  into  the  opposite  gateway, 
and  dismounted  with  a  familiar  air.  A 
waiting  peon  who  recognized  him  informed 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA.      245 

him  that  the  Dona  was  engaged  with  a  vis- 
itor, but  that  they  were  both  returning  to 
the  gallery  for  chocolate  in  a  moment.  The 
stranger  was  the  man  he  had  left  only  an 
hour  before  —  Don  Diego  Fletcher  ! 

In  an  instant  the  idiotic  fatuity  of  his  po- 
sition struck  him  fully.  His  only  excuse 
f(n'  following  Clementina  ha<l  been  to  warn 
her  of  the  coming  of  this  man  who  had  just 
entered,  and  who  would  now  meet  her  as 
quickly  as  himself.  For  a  brief  moment  the 
idea  of  quietly  slipping  out  to  the  corral, 
mounting  his  horse  again,  and  flying  from 
the  rancho,  crossed  his  mind ;  but  the 
thought  that  he  would  be  running  away 
from  the  man  he  had  just  challenged,  and 
perhaps  some  new  hostility  that  had  sprung 
uj)  in  his  heart  against  him,  compelled  him 
to  remain.  The  eyes  of  both  men  met ; 
Fletcher's  in  half  -  wondering  annoyance. 
Grant's  in  ill-concealed  antagonism.  What 
they  would  have  said  is  not  known,  for  at 
that  moment  the  voices  of  Clementina  and 
^Irs.  liamirez  were  heard  in  the  passage,  and 
they  both  entered  the  gallery.  The  two 
men  were  standing  together ;  it  was  impos- 
sible to  see  one  without  the  other. 

And  yet  Grant,  whose  eyes  were  instantly 


24G      A  FIliST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAEA. 

directed  to  Clementina,  thought  that  she 
had  noted  neither.  She  remained  for  aii 
instant  standing  in  the  doorway  in  the  same 
self-possessed,  coldly  graceful  pose  he  re- 
membered she  had  taken  on  the  platform 
at  Tasajara.  Her  eyelids  were  slightly 
downcast,  as  if  she  had  been  arrested  by 
some  sudden  thought  or  some  shy  maiden 
sensitiveness ;  in  her  hesitation  Mrs.  Rami- 
rez passed  impatiently  before  lier. 

"  Mother  of  God  !  "  said  that  lively  lady, 
regarding  the  two  speechless  men,  "  is  it  an 
indiscretion  we  are  making  hero  —  or  are 
you  dumb  ?  You,  Don  Diego,  are  loud 
enough  when  j^ou  and  Don  Jos6  are  to- 
gether ;  at  least  introduce  your  friend." 

Grant  quickly  recovered  himself.  "  I  am 
afraid,"  he  said,  coming  forward,  "  unless 
Miss  Harcourt  does,  that  I  am  a  mere  tres- 
passer in  your  house,  Scnora.  I  saw  her  pp.ss 
in  your  carriage  a  few  moments  ago,  and  hav- 
ing a  message  for  her  1  ventured  to  folio  ,v 
lier  here." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Grant,  a  friend  of  my  fa- 
ther's," said  Clementina,  smiling  with  equa- 
nimity,  as  if  just  awakening  from  a  momen- 
tary abstraction,  yet  apparently  unoonscious 
of  Grant's  imploring  eyes  ;  "  but  the  other 


A   FlIiST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJAliA.      247 

gentleman  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  know- 

ing." 

'■  Ah !  Don  Diego  Fleteher,  a  country- 
man of  yours  ;  and  yet  I  think  he  knows 
you  not." 

Clementina's  face  betrayed  no  indication 
of  the  presence  of  her  father's  foe,  and  yet 
Grant  knew  that  she  must  have  recognized 
his  name,  as  she  looked  towards  Fletcher 
with  perfect  self-possession.  lie  was  too 
much  enraged  in  watchin*-  her  to  take  note 
of  Fletcher's  manifest  disturbance,  or  the 
evident  effort  with  which  he  at  last  bowed 
to  her.  That  this  unexpected  double  meet- 
ing with  the  dauglitor  of  the  man  he  had 
wronged,  and  the  man  wlio  had  espoused 
tlio  quarrel,  should  be  confounding  to  him 
appeared  only  natural.  But  he  was  impre- 
])ared  to  understand  the  feverish  alacrity 
with  whicli  he  acce])ted  Dona  ]\Iaria's  invi- 
tation to  chocolate,  or  the  equally  animated 
wny  in  which  Clementina  threw  herself  into 
her  hostess's  Spanish  levity.  He  knew  it 
was  an  awkward  situation,  that  must  be  sur- 
mounted without  a  scene  ;  he  was  quite  pre- 
pared in  tlio  prcsencs;  of  Clementina  to  be 
civil  to  Fletcher;  but  it  was  odd  that  in  tliis 
feverish  exchange  of  courtesies  and  com};!!- 


248      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA. 

ments  Tie,  Grant,  should  feel  tlie  greater 
avv'kwarduess,  and  be  the  most  ill  at  ease. 
lie  sat  down  and  took  his  part  in  the  con- 
versation ;  he  let  it  transpire  for  Clemen- 
tina's benefit  that  lie  liad  been  to  Los  Gatos 
only  on  business,  yet  there  was  no  oppor- 
tunity for  even  a  significant  glance,  and  he 
had  the  added  embarrassment  of  seeing  that 
she  exhibited  no  surprise  nor  seemed  to  at- 
tach the  least  importance  to  his  inopjoortune 
visit.  In  a  miserable  indecision  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  carried  away  by  the  high-flown 
hospitality  of  his  Spanish  hostess,  and  con- 
sented to  stay  to  an  early  dinner.  It  was 
part  of  the  infelicity  of  circumstance  that 
the  voluble  Do  iia  Maria — electing  him  as 
the  distino^uished  strans^er  above  the  resident 
Fletcher  —  monopolized  him  and  attached 
him  to  her  side.  She  would  do  the  honors 
of  her  house ;  she  must  show  him  the  ruins 
of  the  old  Mission  beside  the  corral;  Don 
Diego  and  Clementina  would  join  them  pres- 
ently in  tlie  garden.  He  cast  a  despairing 
glance  at  the  })lacidly  smiling  Clementina, 
wlio  was  aj)}:)arently  equally  indifferent  tf) 
the  evident  constraint  and  assiuned  ease  of 
tlie  man  Ixv^Ide  lier,  and  turned  away  with 
Mrs.  Kamirez. 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TAHAJAHA.       249 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  gallery  so  deep 
tiuit  the  receding  voices  and  footsteps  of 
(irdut  and  his  hostess  in  the  long  passage 
were  distinctly  heard  until  they  reached  the 
ciid.  Tlien  Fletcher  arose  with  an  inarticu- 
lute  exclamation.  Clementina  instantly  put 
her  finger  to  her  lips,  glanced  around  the 
gallery,  extended  her  hand  to  him,  and  say- 
ing "  Come,"  half-led,  half-dragged  him  into 
the  passage.  To  the  right  she  turned  and 
pushed  open  the  door  of  a  small  room  that 
seemed  a  combination  of  l)oudoir  and  ora- 
tor}',  lit  by  a  French  window  opening  to  the 
garden,  and  flanked  by  a  large  black  and 
white  crucifix  with  a  jji'le  D'leu  beneath  it. 
Closing  the  door  behind  them  she  turned 
and  faced  her  com])anion.  But  it  was  nf) 
longer  the  face  of  the  woman  who  had  been 
sitting  in  the  gallery  ;  it  was  the  face  that 
had  looked  back  at  her  from  the  mirror  at 
Tasajara  the  night  that  Grant  had  left  her  — 
eager,  flushed,  material  with  commonplace 
excitement ! 

^  "Lige  Curtis,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  ]iassionately,  "Lige 
Curtis,  whom  you  thought  dead  !  'Lige  Cur- 
tis, whom  you  once  ])itie(l,  condoled  with  and 
despised !      "Lige    Curtis,  whose  lands    and 


250       A   FIRST   FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A. 

property  have  enriched  you  !  'Lige  Curtis, 
who  would  have  shared  it  with  you  freely  at 
the  time,  but  whom  your  father  juggled  and 
defrauded  of  it  I  "Lige  Curtis,  branded  by 
him  as  a  drimken  outcast  aud  suicide !  'Lige 
Curtis  "  — 

"  Hush  !  "  She  clapped  her  little  hand  over 
his  mouth  with  a  quick  but  awkward  school- 
girl gesture,  inconceivable  to  any  who  had 
known  her  usual  languid  elegance  of  motion, 
and  held  it  there.  He  struggled  angrily,  im- 
patiently, reproachfully,  and  then,  with  a 
sudden  characteristic  weakness  that  seemed 
as  much  of  a  revelation  as  her  once  hoy- 
denish  manner,  kissed  it,  when  she  let  it 
drop.  Then  placing  both  her  hands  still 
girlishly  on  her  slim  waist  and  curtseying 
grotesquely  before  him,  she  said :  "  Lige 
Curtis  I  Oh,  yes  !  'Lige  Curtis,  who  swore  to 
do  everything  for  me !  'Lige  Curtis,  who 
promised  to  give  up  liquor  for  me,  —  who 
was  to  leave  Tasajara  for  me  !  'Lige  Curtis, 
who  was  to  reform,  and  keep  his  laud  as  a 
nest-eg:.;  for  us  l)oth  in  the  future,  and  then 
who  sold  it  —  and  himself  —  and  me  —  to 
dad  for  a  glass  of  whislcey  I  'Lige  Curtis, 
who  disappeared,  and  then  let  us  think  he 
was  dead,  only  tliat  he  might  attack  us  out 
of  tlie  ambush  of  his  irrave  !  " 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.      251 

''  Yes,  but  think  what  /  have  sufiered  all 
these  years  ;  not  for  the  cursed  laud  —  you 
kuow  1  never  cared  for  tliat  —  but  for  you^  — 
you,  Clementina,  —  you  rich,  admired  by 
every  one  ;  idolized,  held  far  above  me,  — 
itu\  the  forgotten  outcast,  the  wretched  sui- 
cide—  and  yet  the  man  to  whom  you  had 
once  plighted  your  troth.  Which  of  those 
greedy  fortune-hunters  whom  my  money  — 
my  life-blood  as  you  might  have  thought  it 
was  —  attracted  to  you,  did  you  care  to  tell 
that  you  had  ever  slipped  out  of  the  little 
garden  gate  at  Sidou  to  meet  that  outcast! 
Do  you  wonder  that  as  the  years  passed  and 
yon  were  luq^py,  /did  not  choose  to  be  so 
forgotten  ?  Do  you  wonder  that  when  you 
shut  the  door  on.  tlie  past  /  managed  to  open 
it  again  —  if  only  a  little  way  —  that  its  light 
might  startle  you  ?  " 

Yet  she  did  not  seem  startled  or  disturbed, 
and  remained  only  looking  at  him  critically. 

'•  You  say  that  you  h;;ve  suifered,"  she 
re])lied  with  a  smile.  "  You  don't  look  it.* 
Your  hair  is  white,  but  it  is  becoming  to  you, 
anil  yt)u  arc  a  handsomer  man,  'Lige  Curtis, 
than  you  wei-e  when  I  iii'st  met  you  ;  you  are 
liner,  "'  slie  went  on.  ;-,tiil  regarding  him, 
"■  stronger  and  healtliier  than  you  were  five 


252       A  FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

years  ago  ;  you  are  rich  and  prosperous,  you 
have  everything  to  make  you  hapj^y,  but " — 
— here  she  laughed  a  little,  held  out  both  her 
hands,  taking  his  and  holding  his  arms  apart 
in  a  rustic,  homely  fashion  — "  but  you  are 
still  the  same  old  'Lige  Curtis !  It  was  like 
you  to  go  off  and  hide  yourself  in  that  idiotic 
way ;  it  was  like  you  to  let  the  property  slide 
in  that  stuj^id,  unselfish  fashion  ;  it  was  like 
you  to  get  real  mad,  and  say  all  those  mean, 
silly  things  to  dad,  that  did  n't  hurt  him  —  in 
your  regular  looney  style  ;  for  rich  or  poor, 
drunk  or  sober,  ragged  or  elegant,  plain  or 
handsome,  —  you  're  always  the  same  'Lige 
Curtis !  " 

In  proportion  as  that  material,  practical, 
rustic  self  —  which  nobody  but  'Lige  Curtis 
had  ever  seen  —  came  back  to  her,  so  in 
proportion  the  irresolute,  wavering,  weak 
and  emotional  vaga])ond  of  Sidon  came  out 
to  meet  it.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  vague 
smile ;  his  five  years  of  childish  resent- 
ment, albeit  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  a 
man  mentally  and  morally  her  superior, 
melted  away.  He  drew  her  towards  him, 
yet  at  the  same  moment  a  quick  sus])icio]i 
returned. 

"  Well,    and   what   are  you   doing  here  ? 


A  FJIiST  FAMILY'   OF   TASAJARA.       253 

Has  this  man  who  has  followed  you  any 
right,  any  claim  upon  you  ?  " 

"  None  but  what  you  in  your  folly  have 
forced  upon  him  !  You  have  made  him  fa- 
ther's ally.  I  don't  know  why  he  came  here. 
I  only  know  why  /  did  —  to  find  j/ou  /  " 

"  You  suspected  then  ?  " 

"  I  knew  /    Hush  !  " 

The  returning  voices  of  Grant  and  of 
Mrs.  Eamirez  were  heard  in  the  courtyard. 
Clementina  made  a  warning  yet  girlishly 
mirthful  gesture,  again  cauglit  his  hand, 
drew  him  (quickly  to  the  Frencli  window,  and 
slipped  through  it  with  him  into  the  garden, 
where  they  were  quickly  lost  in  the  shadows 
of  a  ceanothus  hedge. 

"  They  have  probably  met  Don  Jose  in 
the  orchard,  and  as  he  and  Don  Diego  have 
business  together,  Doua  Clementina  has  with- 
out doubt  gone  to  her  room  and  left  them. 
For  you  are  not  very  entertaining  to  the 
ladies  to-day,  —  you  two  cahdllcros  !  You 
have  much  politics  together,  eh  ?  —  or  you 
have  discussed  and  disagreed,  eh?  I  will 
look  for  the  Seilorita,  and  let  you  go,  Don 
Distraido  !  " 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  ( rraut's  apologies  and 
attempts  to  detain  her  were  equally  feeble, 


254      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAIiA. 

—  as  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  the  only 
chance  he  might  have  of  seeing  Clementina 
except  in  company  with  Fletcher.  As  Mrs. 
liamirez  left  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  listlessly 
walked  np  and  down  the  gallery.  But  Cle- 
mentina did  not  come,  neither  did  his  hostess 
return.  A  subdued  step  in  the  passage 
raised  his  hopes,  —  it  was  only  the  grizzled 
major  domo,  to  show  him  his  room  that  he 
might  prepare  for  dinner. 

He  followed  mechanically  down  the  long 
passage  to  a  second  corridor.  There  was  a 
chance  that  he  might  meet  Clementina,  but 
he  reached  his  room  without  encountering 
any  one.  It  was  a  large  vaulted  apartment 
with  a  single  windov/,  a  deep  embrasure  in 
the  thick  wall  tliat  seemed  to  focus  like  a 
telescope  some  forgotten,  sequestered  part  of 
the  leafy  garden.  Vv^hile  washing  Ills  hands, 
gazing  absently  at  the  green  vignette  framed 
by  tlic  dark  opening,  his  attention  was  drawn 
to  a  movement  of  the  foliage,  stirred  ap})ar- 
eiitly  by  tiie  rai)id  passage  of  two  half-hidden 
figures.  The  (juick  flasli  of  a  feminine  skirt 
seemed  to  indicate  the  coy  flight  of  some 
r(jm])ing  maid  of  the  cdsa,  and  the  pursuit 
and  struggle  of  her  vaqitcro  swain.  To  a 
despairing  lover  even  the  spectacle  of  iuno- 


A    riRS'J-    FAMILY    OF    TASA.IMCA.       ±',o 

cent,  pastoral  ]ia])pincss  in  otliers  is  not  apt 
to  i)(!  sootliing,  and  Grant  was  turniiii;-  im- 
patiently away  when  lie  snddcnly  sto})pc(l 
with  a  rigid  face  and  quickly  a})proachod  ti.o 
window.  Ill  her  struggles  with  the  unseen 
Cor3'don,  the  clustering  leaves  seemed  to  have 
yielded  at  tlic  same  moment  v>ith  the  coy 
Cldoris,  and  parting  —  disclosed  a  stolen 
kiss  !  Grant's  hand  lay  like  ice  against  the 
wall.  Vov,  disengaging  Fletcher's  arm  from 
her  waist  and  freeing  lier  skirt  from  the 
foliage,  it  was  the  calm,  })assionles,s  Clemen- 
tina herself  who  stepped  out.  and  moved  pen- 
sively towards  the  casa. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  Readers  of  the  '  Clarion '  will  have  no- 
ticed that  allusion  has  been  frequently  made 
in  these  columns  to  certain  rumors  con- 
cerning the  early  history  of  Tasajara  which 
were  supposed  to  affect  the  pioneer  record 
of  Daniel  Ilarcourt.  It  was  deemed  by 
the  conductors  of  this  journal  to  be  only 
consistent  with  the  fearless  and  independ- 
ent duty  undertaken  by  the  '  Clarion '  that 
these  rumors  should  be  fully  chronicled  as 
part  of  the  information  required  by  the  read- 
ers of  a  first-class  newspaper,  unbiased  by 
any  consideration  of  tlie  social  position  of 
the  parties,  but  simply  as  a  matter  of  news. 
For  this  the  '  Clarion '  does  not  deem  it  ne- 
cessary to  utter  a  word  of  apology.  But  for 
that  editorial  comment  or  attitude  which 
tlie  proprietors  felt  was  justified  by  the  reli- 
able sources  of  their  information  they  now 
consider  it  only  due  in  liouor  to  themselves, 
tlieir  readers,  ;uid  Mr.  Ilarcourt  to  fuDy  and 
freely  apologize.     A  patient  and  laborious 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAIiA.      257 

investifration  enables  them  to  state  that 
the  alleged  facts  published  by  the  '  Clarion ' 
and  copied  by  other  journals  are  utterly  un- 
supported by  testimony,  and  the  charges  — 
although  more  or  less  vague  —  which  were 
based  upon  them  are  equally  untenable. 
We  are  now  satisfied  that  one  '  Elijah  Cur- 
tis,' a  former  pioneer  of  Tasajara  who  dis- 
appeared five  years  ago,  and  was  supj^osed 
to  be  drowned,  has  not  only  made  no  claim 
to  the  Tasajara  property,  as  alleged,  but  has 
given  no  sign  of  his  equally  alleged  resusci- 
tation and  present  existence,  and  that  on  the 
minutest  investigation  there  apj^ears  Hothing 
either  in  his  disappearance,  or  the  transfer 
of  his  property  to  Daniel  Harcourt,  that 
could  in  any  way  disturb  the  uncontested 
title  to  Tasajara  or  the  unimpeachable  char- 
acter of  its  present  owner.  The  whole  story 
now  seems  to  have  been  the  outcome  of  one 
of  those  stupid  rural  hoaxes  too  common  in 
California." 

"  "Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ashwood,  laying  aside 

the  '  Clarion  '  with  a  skeptical  shrug  of  her 

pretty  shoulders,  as   she  glanced  up  at  her 

brother;  ''I  suppose  this  means  that  you  are 

going  to  propose  again  to  the  young  lady?" 
I— Bret  Harte  v.  22 


258      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

"  I  have,"  said  Jack  Shipley,  "  that 's  the 
worst  of  it  —  and  got  my  answer  before  this 
came  out." 

"  Jack !  "  said  Mrs.  Ashwood,  thoroughly 
surprised. 

"  Yes  !  You  see,  Coimy,  as  I  told  you 
three  weeks  ago,  she  said  she  wanted  time  to 
consider,  —  that  she  scarcely  knew  me,  and 
ail  that !  Well,  I  thought  it  was  n't  exactly 
a  gentleman's  business  to  seem  to  stand  off 
after  that  last  attack  on  her  father,  and  so, 
last  week,  I  went  down  to  San  Jose,  where 
she  was  staying,  and  begged  her  not  to  keep 
me  in  suspense.  And,  by  Jove  !  she  froze  me 
v/ith  a  look,  and  said  that  with  these  asper- 
sions on  her  father's  character,  she  preferred 
not  to  be  under  obligations  to  any  one." 

"  And  you  believed  her?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all  I  Look  here,  Conny,  —  I 
wish  you  'd  just  try  for  once  to  find  out  some 
good  in  that  family,  besides  what  that  senti- 
mental }'Oui]g  widower  John  ]Milton  inay 
liave.  You  seem  to  think  because  thc}^  've 
({uarreled  with  hhn  there  isn't  a  virtue  left 
among  tliom." 

Far  from  seeming  to  offer  any  suggestion 
of  feminine  retaliation,  j\Irs.  Ashwood  smiled 
sweetly.     "My  dear  Jack,  1  have  no  desire 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       259 

to  keep  _\ou  from  tiyiiig-  your  luck  again  with 
Miss  ClenK'ntiua,  'li  that's  what  you  mean, 
aiul  indeed  I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  a 
family  who  felt  a  mesalliance  as  sensitively 
as  the  Ilarcourts  felt  that  affair  of  their 
son's,  would  be  as  Iteenly  alive  to  the  advan- 
ta<!,'es  of  a  good  match  for  tlieir  daughter. 
As  to  young  Mr.  Ilarcourt,  he  never  talked 
to  me  of  tlie  vices  of  his  family,  nor  has  he 
lately  troubled  me  much  with  the  presence 
of  his  own  virtues.  I  have  n't  heard  from 
him  since  we  came  here." 

"  I  suppose  he  is  satisfied  with  the  gov- 
ernment l)erth  you  got  for  him,"  returned 
her  brother  dryly. 

"  lie  was  very  grateful  to  Senator  Flynn, 
who  appreciates  his  talents,  but  who  offered 
it  to  him  as  a  mere  question  of  fitness," 
replied  Mrs.  Ashwood  with  great  precision 
of  statement.  "  But  you  don't  seem  to  know 
he  declined  it  cm  account  of  his  other  work." 

"  Preferred  his  old  Bohemian  ways,  eh  ? 
You  can't  change  those  f(dlov."s,  Conny. 
They  can't  get  over  the  fascinations  of  vaga- 
bondage. Sorry  your  lady-])atroness  scheme 
did  n't  work.  Pity  you  could  u't  have  pro- 
moted him  in  the  line  of  his  profession,  as 
the  Grand  Duchess  of  Girolstein  did  Fritz." 


260      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Jack,  go  to  Clem- 
entina! You  may  not  be  successful,  but 
there  at  least  the  perfect  gentlemanliness 
and  good  taste  of  your  illustrations  will  not 
be  thrown  away." 

"  I  think  of  going  to  San  Francisco  to- 
morrow, anyway,"  returned  Jack  with  af- 
fected carelessness.  "  I  'm  getting  rather 
bored  with  this  wild  seaside  watering  place 
and  its  glitter  of  ocean  and  hopeless  back- 
ground of  mountain.  It 's  nothing  to  me 
that  '  there  's  no  land  nearer  than  Japan ' 
out  there.  It  may  be  very  healthful  to 
the  tissues,  but  it 's  weariness  to  the  spirit, 
and  I  don't  see  why  we  can't  wait  at  San 
Francisco  till  the  rains  send  us  further  south, 
as  well  as  here." 

He  had  walked  to  the  balcony  of  their  sit- 
ting-room in  the  little  seaside  hotel  where 
this  conversation  took  place,  and  gazed  dis- 
contentedly over  the  curving  bay  and  sandy 
shore  before  him.  After  a  slight  pause  Mrs. 
Ashwood  stepped  out  beside  him. 

"  Very  likely  I  may  go  with  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  perceptible  tone  of  weariness. 
"  We  will  see  after  the  post  arrives." 

"  By  the  way,  there  is  a  little  package  for 
you  in  my  room,  that  came  this  morning.    I 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T  AS  AJAR  A.      261 

brought  it  up,  but  forgot  to  give  it  to  you. 
You  '11  fiud  it  on  my  table." 

Mrs.  Asliwood  abstractedly  turned  away 
and  entered  her  brother's  room  from  the 
same  balcony.  The  forgotten  parcel,  which 
looked  like  a  roll  of  manuscript,  was  lying 
on  his  dressing-table.  She  gazed  attentively 
at  the  handwriting  on  the  wrapper  and  then 
gave  a  quick  glance  around  her.  A  sudden 
and  subtle  change  came  over  her.  She  nei- 
tlier  flushed  nor  paled,  nor  did  the  delicate 
lines  of  expression  in  her  face  quiver  or 
cliange.  But  as  she  held  the  parcel  in  her 
hand  her  whole  being  seemed  to  undergo  some 
exquisite  suffusion.  As  the  medicines  which 
the  Arabian  physician  had  concealed  in  the 
liollow  handle  of  the  mallet  permeated  tlie 
languid  royal  blood  of  Persia,  so  some  vol- 
atile balm  of  youth  seemed  to  flow  in  upon 
her  witli  the  contact  of  that  strange  missive 
and  transform  her  weary  spirit. 

"  Jack  !  "  she  called,  in  a  high  clear  voice. 

But  Jack  had  already  gone  from  the  bal- 
cony wlien  she  reached  it  wdtli  an  elastic 
step  and  a  quick  youthful  swirl  and  rustling 
of  her  skirt.  He  was  lighting  his  cigar  in 
the  garden. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  leaning   half  over  the 


262      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA. 

railing,  "  come  Lack  here  in  an  hour  and 
we  11  talk  over  that  matter  of  yours  again." 

Jack  looked  up  eagerly  and  as  if  he  might 
even  come  up  then,  but  she  added  quickly, 
•'  In  about  an  hour  —  I  must  think  it  over," 
and  withdrew. 

She  reentered  the  sitting-room,  shut  the 
door  carefully  and  locked  it,  half  pulled 
down  the  blind,  walking  once  or  twice  around 
the  table  on  which  the  parcel  lay,  with  one 
eye  on  it  like  a  graceful  cat.  Then  she 
suddenly  sat  down,  took  it  up  witli  a  grave 
practical  face,  examined  the  postmark  curi- 
ously, and  opened  it  with  severe  deliberation. 
It  contained  a  manuscript  and  a  letter  of 
four  closely  written  pages.  She  glanced  at 
the  manuscript  with  bright  approving  eyes, 
ran  her  fingers  through  its  leaves  and  then 
laid  it  carefully  and  somewhat  ostentatiously 
on  the  table  beside  her.  Then,  still  holding 
the  letter  in  her  hand,  she  rose  and  glanced 
out  of  the  window  at  her  bored  brother 
lounging  towards  the  beacli  and  at  the  heav- 
ing billows  beyond,  and  returned  to  her  seat. 
This  apparently  im])ortant  preliminary  con- 
cluded, she  began  to  read. 

Tliere  were,  as  ah'cady  stated,  four  blessed 
pages  of  it  I    All  vital,  earnest,  palpitating 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T  AS  AJAR  A.      263 

with  youthful  energy,  preposterous  in  pre- 
mises, precipitate  in  conclusions, — yet  irre- 
sistible aud  convincing  to  every  woman  in 
their  illogical  sincerity.  There  was  not  a 
word  of  love  in  it,  yet  every  page  breathed 
a  wholesome  adoration ;  there  was  not  an 
epithet  or  expression  that  a  greater  prude 
than  Mrs.  Ashwood  would  have  objected  to, 
yet  every  sentence  seemed  to  end  in  a  caress. 
There  was  not  a  line  of  poetry  in  it,  and 
scarcely  a  figure  or  simile,  and  yet  it  was  po- 
etical. Boyishly  egotistic  as  it  was  in  atti- 
tude, it  seemed  to  be  written  less  q/ himself 
than  to  her  ;  in  its  delicate  because  uncon- 
scious flattery,  it  made  her  at  once  the  pro- 
vocation aud  excuse.  And  yet  so  potent 
was  its  individuality  that  it  required  no  sig- 
nature. No  one  but  John  Milton  llarcourt 
could  have  written  it.  His  personality 
stood  out  of  it  so  strongly  that  once  or  twice 
Mrs.  Ashwood  almost  unconsciously  put  up 
her  little  hand  before  her  face  with  a  half 
mischievous,  half -deprecating  smile,  as  if  the 
big  lionest  eyes  of  its  writer  were  upon  her. 
It  began  by  an  elaborate  apology  for  de- 
clinhig  the  appointment  offered  him  by  one 
of  her  friends,  wliich  he  was  bold  enough  to 
think  had  been  prompted  by  her  kind  heart. 


264      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAHA. 

That  was  like  her,  but  yet  what  she  might 
do  to  any  one  ;  and  he  preferred  to  think  of 
her  as  the  sweet  and  gentle  lady  who  had 
recognized  his  merit  without  knowing  him, 
rather  than  the  powerful  and  gracious  bene- 
factress who  wanted  to  reward  him  when  she 
did  know  him.  The  crown  that  she  had  all 
unconsciously  placed  upon  his  head  that  af- 
ternoon at  the  little  hotel  at  Ciystal  Spring 
was  more  to  him  than  the  Senator's  appoint- 
ment ;  perhaps  he  was  selfish,  but  he  could 
not  bear  that  she  who  had  given  so  much 
should  believe  that  he  could  accept  a  lesser 
gift.  All  this  and  much  more  !  Some  of  it 
he  had  wanted  to  say  to  her  in  San  Francisco 
at  times  when  they  had  met,  but  he  could  not 
find  the  words.  But  she  had  given  him  the 
courage  to  go  on  and  do  the  only  tiling  he 
was  fit  for,  and  he  had  resolved  to  stick  to 
that,  and  perhaps  do  something  once  more 
that  might  make  him  hear  again  her  voice  as 
he  had  heard  it  that  day,  and  again  see  the 
light  that  had  shone  in  her  eyes  as  she  sat 
there  and  read.  And  this  was  why  he  was 
sending  her  a  manuscript.  She  might  have 
forgotten  tliat  she  had  told  liim  a  strange 
story  of  her  cousin  wlio  liad  disappoai'cd  — 
which  she  thought  he  mii^ht  at  some  time 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.      265 

work  up.  Here  it  was.  Perhaps  she  might 
not  recognize  it  again,  in  the  way  he  had  writ- 
ten it  here  ;  perhaps  she  did  not  really  mean 
it  when  she  had  given  him  permission  to 
use  it,  but  he  remembered  her  truthful  eyes 
and  believed  her  —  and  in  any  event  it  was 
hers  to  do  with  what  she  liked.  It  had  been 
a  great  pleasure  for  him  to  write  it  and  think 
that  she  would  see  it ;  it  was  like  seeing 
her  himself  —  that  was  in  his  better  self  — 
more  worthy  the  companionship  of  a  beauti- 
ful and  noble  woman  than  the  poor  young 
man  she  would  have  helped.  This  was  why 
he  had  not  called  the  week  before  she  went 
away.  But  for  all  that,  she  had  made  his 
life  less  lonely,  and  he  should  be  ever  grate- 
ful to  her.  He  could  never  forget  how  she 
unconsciously  sympathized  with  him  that 
day  over  the  loss  that  had  blighted  his  life 
forevei",  — yet  even  then  he  did  not  know 
that  she,  herself,  had  paissed  through  the  same 
suffering.  But  just  here  the  stricken  widow 
of  thirty,  after  a  vain  attempt  to  keep  up 
the  knitted  gravity  of  her  eyebrows,  bowed 
her  dimpling  face  over  the  letter  of  the 
blighted  widower  of  twenty,  and  laughed  so 
long  and  silently  that  the  tears  stood  out  like 
dew  on  her  light-brown  eyelashes. 


266      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

Bat  she  beoame  presently  severe  again, 
and  finislied  lier  reading  of  the  letter  gravely. 
Then  she  folded  it  carefully,  deposited  it  in 
a  box  on  her  table,  which  she  locked.  After 
a  few  minutes,  however,  she  unlocked  the 
box  again  and  transferred  the  letter  to  her 
pocket.  The  serenity  of  her  features  did 
not  relax  again,  although  her  pre\aous  pretty 
prepossession  of  youthful  spirit  was  still  in- 
dicated In  her  movements.  Going  into  her 
bedroom,  she  reappeared  in  a  few  minutes 
with  a  light  cloak  thrown  over  her  shoulders 
and  a  white-trimmed  bi'oad-brimmed  hat. 
Then  she  rolled  up  the  manuscript  in  a  pa- 
per, and  called  her  French  maid.  As  she 
stood  there  awaiting  her  with  the  roll  in  her 
hand,  she  might  have  been  some  young  girl 
on  her  way  to  her  music  lesson. 

"  If  my  brother  returns  before  I  do,  tell 
him  to  wait." 

"  Madame  Is  going  "  — 

"  Out,"  said  Mrs.  Ashwood  blithely,  and 
tripped  downstairs. 

She  made  her  way  directly  to  the  shore 
where  she  remembered  tliere  was  a  grouj)  of 
rocks  affording  a  shelter  from  the  north- 
west trade  winds.  It  was  readied  at  low 
water  by  a  narrow  ridge  of  sand,  and  here 


A   fJliST   FAMILY   Or   t.U-^AJARA.       267 

she  had  often  basked  in  the  sun  Nvith  her 
book.  It  was  here  that  she  now  unrolled 
John  jNIilton's  manuscri{.t  and  read. 

It  was  the  story  she  liad  told  him,  but  in- 
terpreted l)y  his  poetry  and  adorned  by  his 
faney  until  the  facts  as  she  remembered 
them  seemed  to  be  no  lon^^er  liers,  or  indeed 
trutlis  at  all.  She  had  always  believed 
her  cousin's  unhappy  temperament  to  have 
been  tlio  result  of  a  moral  and  physical  idio- 
syncrasy, —  she  found  it  here  to  be  the  ef- 
fect of  a  lifelong  and  hopeless  passion  for 
herself  I  The  ingenious  John  Milton  liad 
given  a  poet's  precocity  to  the  youth  v. horn 
she  had  only  known  as  a  suspicious,  moody 
boy,  had  idealized  him  as  a  sensitive  but 
songless  Byron,  had  given  him  the  added 
infirmity  of  pulmonary  weakness,  and  a 
handkerchief  that  in  moments  of  great  ex- 
citement, after  having  been  hurriedly 
pressed  to  his  pale  li])s,  was  withdrawn 
"  with  a  crimson  stain."  Opposed  to  this 
interesting  figure  —  the  more  striking  to  her 
as  she  had  been  hitherto  haunted  by  the  im- 
])ression  that  her  cousin  during  his  l)oyliood 
had  been  sul)jcct  to  facial  eruption  and  boils 
—  was  Ik  r  own  erpially  idealized  self. 
Cruelly  kind  to  her  cousin  and  gentle  with 


2G8       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

his  weaknesses  while  calmly  ignoring  their 
cause,  leading  him  unconsciously  ste])  by 
step  in  his  fatal  passion,  he  only  became 
aware  by  accident  that  she  nourished  an 
ideal  hero  in  the  person  of  a  hard,  proud, 
middle-aged  practical  man  of  the  world, — 
her  future  husband  !  At  this  picture  of  the 
late  Mr.  Ashwood,  who  had  really  been  an 
indistinctive  social  bofi  vivant,  his  amiable 
relict  grew  somewhat  hysterical.  The  dis- 
covery of  her  real  feelings  drove  the  con- 
sumptive cousin  into  a  secret,  self-imposed 
exile  on  the  shores  of  the  Pacific,  where  he 
hoped  to  find  a  grave.  But  the  complete 
and  sudden  change  of  life  and  scene,  the 
balm  of  the  wild  woods  and  the  wholesome 
barbarism  of  nature,  wrought  a  magical 
change  in  his  physical  health  and  a  phi- 
losophical rest  in  his  mind.  He  married 
the  daughter  of  an  Indian  chief.  Years 
passed,  the  heroine  —  a  rich  and  still  young 
and  beautiful  widow  —  unwittingly  sought 
the  same  medicinal  solitude.  Here  in  the 
depth  of  the  forest  she  encountered  her 
former  playmate  ;  the  passion  which  he  had 
fondly  supposed  was  dead  revived  in  her 
presence,  and  for  the  first  time  she  learned 
from  his  bearded   lips  the  secret  of  his  pas- 


A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T AS  AJAR  A.      2G9 

sion.  Alas  !  not  she  alone  !  The  contiguous 
forest  could  not  be  bolted  out,  and  the  Indian 
wife  heard  all.  Kecognizing  the  situation 
with  aboriginal  directness  of  purpose,  she 
coniniitted  suicide  in  the  fond  belief  that  it 
would  reunite  the  survivors.  But  in  vain  ; 
the  cousins  parted  on  the  spot  to  meet  no 
more. 

Even  Mrs.  Ashwood's  predilection  for  the 
youthful  writer  could  not  overlook  the  fact 
that  the  denouement  was  by  no  means  novel 
nor  the  situation  human,  but  yet  it  was  here 
that  she  was  most  interested  and  fascinated. 
The  description  of  the  forest  was  a  descrip- 
tion of  tlie  wood  where  she  had  first  met 
llareourt. ;  the  charm  of  it  returned,  until 
she  almost  seemed  to  again  inhale  its  bal- 
samic freshness  in  the  pages  before  her. 
Now,  as  tli'jn,  her  youth  came  back  with  the 
same  longing  and  regret.  Jjut  more  bewild- 
ering than  all,  it  was  herself  that  moved 
there,  painted  with  the  loving  hand  of  tlic 
narrator.  For  the  first  time  she  experienced 
tlie  delicious  flattery  of  seeing  herself  as 
only  a  lover  could  see  lier.  The  smallest 
detail  of  her  costume  was  suggested  with  an 
accuracy  that  pleasantly  thrilled  her  femi- 
nine '"CTiso,     Tiic  grace  of  her  figure  slowly 


270      A  FIK.oT  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAKA. 

moving  through  the  shadow,  the  curves  of 
her  arm  and  the  delicacy  of  her  hand  that 
held  the  bridle  rein,  the  gentle  glow  of  her 
softly  rounded  cheek,  the  sweet  mystery  of 
her  veiled  eyes  and  forehead,  and  the  escap- 
ing gold  of  her  lovely  hair  beneath  her  hat 
were  all  in  turn  masterfully  touched  or  ten- 
derly suggested.  And  when  to  this  was 
added  the  faint  perfume  of  her  nearer  pres- 
ence —  the  scent  she  always  used  —  the  deli- 
cate revelations  of  her  withdrawn  gauntlet, 
the  bracelet  clasping  her  white  wrist,  and  at 
last  the  thrilling  contact  of  her  soft  hand  on 
his  arm,  —  she  put  down  the  manuscript  and 
blushed  like  a  very  girl.     Then  she  started. 

A  shout !  —  his  voice  surely  !  —  and  the 
sound  of  oars  in  their  rowlocks. 

An  instant  revulsion  of  feeling  overtook 
her.  With  a  quick  movement  she  instantly 
hid  the  manuscript  beneath  her  cloak  and 
stood  up  erect  and  indignant.  Not  twenty 
yards  away,  apparently  advancing  from  the 
oj^posite  shore  of  the  bay,  was  a  boat.  It 
contained  only  Jolni  Milton,  resting  on  his 
oars  and  scanning  the  group  of  rocks  anx- 
iously. His  face,  wlnicli  was  quite  stiained 
with  anxiety,  suddenly  llusliod  when  he  saw 
her,  and  then  recogni>;ing  the  unmistakable 


A   FIRST  FAMILY    OF   T  AS  A  JAR  A.       271 

significanco  of  her  look  and  attitude,  jxilcd 
once  more.  He  bent  over  his  oars  again  ;  a 
few  strokes  brought  him  close  to  the  rock. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  hesitatingly, 
as  he  turned  towards  her  and  laid  aside  his 
oars,  "•  but  —  I  thought  —  you  were  —  in 
danger." 

She  glanced  quickly  round  her.  She  had 
forgotten  the  tide !  The  ledge  between  her 
and  the  shore  was  already  a  foot  under 
brown  sea-water.  Yet  if  she  had  not 
thought  that  it  would  look  ridiculous,  she 
would  have  leaped  down  even  then  and 
waded  ashore. 

"  It  "s  nothing,"  she  said  coldly,  with  the 
air  of  one  to  whom  the  situation  was  an 
everyday  occurrence  ;  "  it 's  only  a  few  steps 
and  a  slight  wetting  —  and  my  brother 
would  have  been  here  in  a  moment  moi-e." 

.fohn  Milton's  frank  eyes  made  no  secret 
of  his  mortitieation.  "  I  ought  not  to  have 
disturbed  you,  I  know,"'  he  said  quickly,  "  I 
luid  no  right.  But  I  was  on  the  other  shore 
opposite  and  I  saw  you  come  down  here  — 
that  is  "  —  he  blushed  prodigiously  —  "I 
thouglit  it  might  be  you  —  and  I  ventured 
—  I  mean  —  won't  you  let  me  row  you 
ashore  ?  " 


272      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  reasonable  excuse 
for  refusing.  She  slipped  quickly  into  the 
boat  without  waiting  for  his  helping  hand, 
avoiding  that  contact  which  only  a  moment 
ago  she  was  trying  to  recall. 

A  few  strokes  brought  them  ashore.  He 
continued  his  explanation  with  the  hopeless 
frankness  and  persistency  of  youth  and  in- 
experience. "  I  only  came  here  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday.  I  would  not  have  come,  but 
Mr.  Fletcher,  who  has  a  cottage  on  the  other 
shore,  sent  for  me  to  offer  me  my  old  place 
on  the  *  Clarion.'  I  had  no  idea  of  in- 
truding upon  your  privacy  by  calling  here 
without  permission." 

Mrs.  Ashwood  had  resumed  her  conven- 
tional courtesy  without  however  losing  her 
feminine  desire  to  make  her  companion  pay 
for  the  agitation  he  had  caused  her.  "  We 
would  have  been  always  pleased  to  see  you," 
she  said  vaguely,  "  and  I  hope,  as  you  are 
here  now,  you  will  come  with  me  to  the  ho- 
tel.    My  brother  "  — 

But  he  still  retained  his  hold  of  the  boat- 
ropc  without  moving,  and  continued,  "  I  saw 
you  yesterday,  through  the  telescope,  sitting 
in  your  balcon}' ;  and  later  at  night  I  think 
it    was  your  shadow  I   saw  near  the  blue 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.      273 

shaded  lamp  in  the  sitting-room  by  the  win- 
dow, —  I  don't  mean  the  red  lamp  that  you 
have  in  your  own  room.  I  watched  you  until 
you  put  out  the  blue  lamp  and  lit  the  red 
one.  I  tell  you  this  —  because  —  because  — 
I  thought  you  might  be  reading  a  manuscript 
I  sent  you.  At  least,"  he  smiled  faintly, 
"  I  liked  to  think  it  so." 

In  her  present  mood  this  struck  her  only 
as  persistent  and  somewhat  egotistical.  But 
she  felt  herself  now  on  ground  where  she 
could  deal  firmly  with  him. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  gi-avely.  "  I  got  it 
and  thank  you  very  much  for  it.  I  intended 
to  write  to  you." 

"  Don't,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  fixedly. 
"  I  can  see  you  don't  like  it." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  she  said  promptly, 
"  I  think  it  beautifully  written,  and  very  in- 
genious in  plot  and  situation.  Of  course  it 
is  n't  the  story  I  told  you  —  I  did  n't  expect 
that,  for  I  'm  not  a  genius.  The  man  is 
not  at  all  like  my  cousin,  you  know,  and 
the  woman  —  well  really,  to  tell  the  truth, 
she  is  simply  inconceivable  !  " 

''  You  think  so  ?  "  he  said  gravely.  lie 
had  been  gazing  abstractedly  at  some  shin- 
ing brown  seaweed  in  the  water,  and  when 


274       A   FIRST   FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

he  raised  his  eyes  to  hers  they  seemed  to 
have  caught  its  color. 

"  Think  so  ?  I  'm  positive  !  There  's  no 
such  a  woman  ;  she  is  n't  human.  But  let 
us  walk  to  the  hotel." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  must  go  back  now." 

"  But  at  least  let  my  brother  thank  you  for 
taking-  his  place  —  in  rescuing  me.  It  was 
so  thoughtful  in  you  to  put  off  at  once  when 
you  saw  I  was  surrounded.  I  might  have 
been  in  great  danger." 

"  Please  don't  make  fun  of  me,  Mrs.  Ash- 
wood,"  he  said  with  a  faint  return  of  his 
boyish  smile.  "You  know  there  was  no  dan- 
ger. I  have  only  interrupted  you  in  a  nap 
or  a  reverie  —  and  I  can  see  now  that  you 
evidently  came  here  to  be  alone." 

Holding  the  manuscript  more  closely  hid- 
den under  the  folds  of  her  cloak,  she  smiled 
enigmatically.  "  I  think  I  cZiJ,  and  it  seems 
that  the  tide  thought  so  too,  and  acted  upon 
it.  But  you  will  come  up  to  the  liotel  with 
me.  surely  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  going  back  now."  There  was 
a  sudden  firmness  about  the  young  fellow 
which  she  had  never  before  noticed.  This 
was  evidently  tlie  creature  who  had  married 
in  spite  of  his  family. 


A   FIRUT  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAHA.       275 

"  Won't  you  come  back  long  enoujrli  to 
take  your  manuscript  ?  I  will  point  out  the 
})art  1  refer  to,  and  —  we  will  talk  it  over." 

"  There  is  no  necessity.  I  wrote  to  you 
that  you  might  keep  it ;  it  is  yours  ;  it  was 
written  for  you  and  none  other.  It  is  quite 
enough  for  me  to  know  that  you  were  good 
enough  to  read  it.  But  will  you  do  one 
tiling  more  for  me  ?  Head  it  again  !  If  you 
find  anything  in  it  the  second  time  to  change 
your  views  —  if  you  find  " — 

"  I  will  let  you  know,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  I  will  write  to  you  as  I  intended." 

"  No,  I  did  n't  mean  that.  I  meant  that 
if  you  found  the  woman  less  inconceivable 
and  more  human,  don't  write  to  me,  but  put 
your  red  lamp  in  your  window  instead  of  the 
blue  one,     I  will  watch  for  it  and  see  it." 

"  I  think  1  will  be  able  to  explain  myself 
much  better  with  sim]ile  pen  and  ink,"  she 
said  di'yly, ''  and  it  will  be  much  more  useful 
to  you." 

He  lifted  his  hat  gravely,  shoved  off  the 
boat,  leaped  into  it,  and  before  she  could 
hold  out  her  hand  was  twenty  feet  away. 
She  tui'ncd  and  ran  (juickly  up  the  rocks. 
When  she  reached  the  hotel,  she  could  see 
the  boat  already  half  across  the  bay. 


276       A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA. 

Entering  her  sitting-room  she  found  that 
her  brother,  tired  of  waiting  for  her,  had 
driven  out.  Taking  the  hidden  manuscript 
from  her  cloak  she  tossed  it  with  a  slight 
gesture  of  impatience  on  the  table.  Then 
she  summoned  the  landlord. 

"  Is  there  a  town  across  the  bay  ?  " 

"  Xo  !  the  whole  mountain-side  belongs  to 
Don  Diego  Fletcher.  He  lives  away  back 
in  the  coast  range  at  Los  Gatos,  but  he  has 
a  cottage  and  mill  on  the  beach." 

"  Don  Diego  Fletcher  —  Fletcher  !  Is  he 
a  Spaniard  then  ?  " 

"  Half  and  half,  I  reckon ;  he  's  from  the 
lower  country,  I  believe." 

"  Is  he  here  often  ?  " 

"  Not  much  ;  he  has  mills  at  Los  Gatos, 
wheat  ranches  at  Santa  Clara,  and  owns  a 
newspaper  in  'Frisco  !  But  he 's  here  now. 
There  were  lights  in  his  house  last  night, 
and  his  cutter  lies  off  the  point." 

"  Could  you  get  a  small  package  and  note 
to  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  it  is  only  a  row  across  the 
bay." 

"  Thank  you." 

Without  removing  her  hat  and  cloak  she 
sat  down  at  the  table  and  began  a  letter  to 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAIiA.       277 

Don  Diego  Fletcher.  She  begged  to  inclose 
to  him  a  manuscript  which  she  was  satis- 
fied, for  the  interests  of  its  author,  was 
better  in  his  hands  than  hers.  It  had  been 
given  to  her  by  the  author,  Mr.  J.  M.  Ilar- 
court,  whom  she  understood  was  engaged 
on  Mr.  rictcher's  paper,  the  "Clarion."  In 
fact,  it  had  been  written  at  her  suggestion, 
and  from  an  incident  in  real  life  of  which 
she  was  cognizant.  She  was  sorry  to  say 
that  on  account  of  some  very  foolish  criticism 
of  her  own  as  to  the  facts,  the  talented  young 
author  had  become  so  dissatisfied  with  it  as 
to  make  it  possible  that,  if  left  to  himself, 
this  very  charming  and  beautifully  written 
story  would  remain  unpublished.  As  an 
admirer  of  Mr.  Ilarcourt's  genius,  and  a 
friend  of  his  family,  she  felt  that  such  an 
event  would  be  deplorable,  and  she  therefore 
begged  to  leave  it  to  Mr.  Fletcher's  delicacy 
and  tact  to  arrange  with  the  author  for  its 
publication.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Fletcher 
had  only  to  read  it  to  be  convinced  of  its  re- 
markable literary  merit,  and  she  again  would 
impress  upon  him  the  fact  tha,t  her  playful 
and  thoughtless  criticism  —  which  was  per- 
sonal and  confidential  —  was  only  based  upon 
the  circumstances  that  the  author  had  reallv 


278       -1    FIRST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJAliA. 

made  a  more  beautiful  and  toucliiii<^  story 
than  the  poor  facts  which  she  had  furnished 
seemed  to  warrant.  She  had  only  just  learned 
the  fortunate  circumstance  that  Mr.  Flet- 
cher was  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  hotel 
where  she  was  staying  with  her  brother. 

With  the  same  practical,  business-like 
directness,  but  perhaps  a  certain  unbusiness- 
like haste  superadded,  she  rolled  up  the 
manuscript  and  dispatched  it  with  the  letter. 
This  done,  however,  a  slight  reaction  set 
in,  and  having  taken  off  her  hat  and  sliawl, 
she  dropped  listlessly  on  a  chair  by  the 
window,  but  as  suddenly  rose  and  took  a  seat 
in  the  darker  part  of  the  room.  She  felt 
that  she  had  done  right,  — that  highest  but 
most  depressing  of  human  convictions'  It 
was  entirely  for  his  good.  There  was  no  rea- 
son why  his  best  interests  should  suffer  for 
his  folly.  If  anybody  was  to  suffer  it  was 
slie.  But  wliat  nonsense  was  she  thinking ! 
She  would  write  to  him  later  when  she  vras  a 
little  cooler,  —  as  she  had  said.  But  then  he 
had  distinctly  told  her,  and  very  rudely  too, 
that  he  did  n't  want  her  to  write.  Wanted 
her  to  make  signals  to  him, —  the  idiot!  and 
prob.aliiy  was  even  now  watching  her  with  a 
telescope.     It  was  really  too  preposterous  I 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA.       279 

The  result  was  that  her  brother  found 
her  on  his  return  in  a  somewhat  uncertain 
mood,  and,  as  a  counselor,  variable  and  con- 
flicting in  judgment.  If  this  Clementina, 
who  seemed  to  have  the  family  qualities  of 
ol)stinacy  and  audacity,  really  cared  for  him, 
she  certainly  would  n't  let  delicacy  stand  in 
the  way  of  letting  him  know  it  —  and  he  was 
therefore  safe  to  wait  a  little.  A  few  mo- 
ments later,  she  languidly  declared  that  she 
was  afraid  that  she  was  no  counselor  in  such 
matters  ;  really  she  was  getting  too  old  to  take 
any  interest  in  that  sort  of  thing,  and  she 
never  had  been  a  matchmaker !  By  the  way 
now,  was  n't  it  odd  that  this  neighbor,  that 
rich  cajiitalist  across  the  bay,  should  be  called 
Fletcher,  and  "James  Fletcher"  too,  for 
Diego  meant  "  James  "  in  Spanish.  Exactly 
the  same  name  as  poor  "  Cousin  Jim  "  wlio 
disappeared.  Did  ho  remember  her  old 
playmate  Jim  ?  But  her  brother  thouglit 
something  else  was  a  deuced  sight  more  odd, 
namely,  that  this  same  Don  Diego  Fletcher 
was  said  to  be  very  sweet  on  Clementina 
now,  and  was  always  in  her  company  at  tlie 
Ramirez.  And  that,  with  this  "  Clarion  " 
apology  on  the  top  of  it,  looked  infernally 
queer. 


280      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA. 

Mrs.  Ashwood  felt  a  sudden  consternation. 
Here  had  she  —  Jack's  sister  —  just  been 
taking  Jack's  probable  rival  into  confidential 
correspondence  !  She  turned  upon  Jack 
sharply :  — 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  that  before  ?  " 

"  I  did  tell  you,"  he  said  gloomily,  "  but 
you  did  n't  listen.  But  what  difference  does 
it  make  to  you  now  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Mrs.  Ashwood 
calmly  as  she  walked  out  of  the  room. 

Nevertheless  the  afternoon  passed  wearily, 
and  her  usual  ride  into  the  upland  canon 
did  not  reanimate  her.  For  reasons  known 
best  to  herself  she  did  not  take  her  after- 
dinner  stroll  along  the  shore  to  watch  the 
outlying  fog.  At  a  comparatively  early 
hour,  while  there  was  still  a  roseate  glow  in 
the  wastern  sky,  she  appeared  with  grim 
deliberation,  and  the  blue  lamp-shade  in  her 
hand,  and  placed  it  over  the  lamp  which  she 
lit  and  stood  on  her  table  beside  the  window. 
Tliis  done  she  sat  down  and  began  to  write 
with  bright-eyed  but  vicious  complacency. 

"  But  you  don't  want  tliat  light  and  the 
window,  Constance,"  said  Jack  wonderingly. 

Mrs.  Asliwood  could  not  stand  the  dread- 
ful twilight. 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJARA.       281 

"  But  take  away  your  lamp  and  you  '11 
have  light  enough  from  the  sunset,"  re- 
sponded Jack. 

That  was  just  wliat  she  did  n't  want!  The 
litrht  from  the  window  was  that  horrid  vulvar 
red  glow  which  she  hated.  It  might  be  very 
romantic  and  suit  lovers  like  Jack,  but  as 
she  had  some  work  to  do,  she  wanted  the 
blue  shade  of  the  lamp  to  correct  that  dread- 
ful glare. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

John  Milton  had  rowed  back  without 
lifting  his  eyes  to  Mrs.  Ashwood's  receding 
figure.  He  believed  that  he  'was  right  in 
declining  her  invitation,  althougli  he  had  a 
miserable  feeling;  that  it  entailed  seeiuo-  her 
for  the  last  time.  With  all  that  lie  believed 
was  his  previous  experience  of  the  affections, 
he  was  still  so  untutored  as  to  be  confused 
as  to  his  reasons  for  declining,  or  his  right 
to  have  been  shocked  and  disap])ointed  at 
her  manner.  It  seemed  to  him  sufficiently 
plain  that  he  had  offended  the  most  perfect 
woman  lie  had  CA'cr  known  without  knowing 
more.  The  feeling  he  had  for  her  was  none 
the  less  powerful  because,  in  his  great  sim])li- 
city,  it  v/as  vague  and  unformulated.  And  it 
was  a  i)art  of  this  strange  simplicity  that  in 
his  miserable  loneliness  liis  thoughts  turned 
unconsciously  to  his  dead  wife  for  sympathy 
and  consolation.  Loo  would  have  under- 
stood hhu  I 

Mr.   Fletcher,  wlio   had   received  him  on 


A    FIllST   FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.       283 

liis  arrival  with  singular  effusiveness  and 
i'ordialitr,  had  put  ol't  their  final  arrange- 
ments until  after  dinner,  on  account  of  press- 
ing business.  It  was  therefore  with  some 
surprise  that  an  Iiour  before  the  time  he  was 
summoned  to  Fletcher's  room.  lie  was  still 
more  surprised  to  find  him  sitting  at  his 
desk,  from  which  a  number  of  business  pa- 
pers and  letters  had  been  hurriedly  thrust 
asicki  to  make  way  for  a  manuscript.  A 
single  glance  at  it  was  enough  to  show  the 
unhajipy  Joh.u  islilton  that  it  was  the  one 
he  had  sent  to  ]\Irs.  Ashwood.  The  eolc: 
flushed  to  his  cheek  and  he  felt  a  mist  before 
his  eyes.  His  employer's  face,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  quite  pale,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  [larcourt  with  a  singular  intensity.  Ilis 
voice  too,  altliougli  under  great  control,  was 
hard  and  strange. 

"  K>':id  that,"  he  said,  handing  the  young 
man  a  lct!:er. 

Thu  color  again  streamed  into  John  Mil- 
ton's face  as  he  recogni/x-d  the  l:and  of  Mrs. 
Ashwood,  and  remained  there  wliile  he  read 
it.  When  he  put  it  down,  however,  ho 
raised  Ids  frank  eyes  to  J'letchcr's,  and 
said  with  a  certain  dignity  and  manliness: 
"■  ^Vhat  she  says  is  the  truth,  sir.     i3ut  it  is 


28-4      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

/alone  who  am  at  fault.  This  manuscript 
is  merely  my  stupid  idea  of  a  very  simple 
story  she  was  once  kind  enough  to  tell  me 
when  we  were  talking  of  strange  occurrences 
in  real  life,  which  she  thought  I  might  some 
time  make  use  of  in  my  work.  I  tried  to 
embellish  it,  and  failed.  That 's  all.  I  will 
take  it  back,  —  it  was  written  only  for  her." 

There  was  such  an  irresistible  truthful- 
ness and  sincerity  in  his  voice  and  manner, 
that  any  idea  of  complicity  with  the  sender 
was  dismissed  from  Fletcher's  mind.  As 
Harcourt,  however,  extended  his  hand  for 
the  manuscript  Fletcher  interfered. 

"  You  forget  that  you  gave  it  to  her,  and 
she  has  sent  it  to  me.  If  /don't  keep  it,  it 
can  be  returned  to  her  only.  Now  may  I 
ask  wIto  is  this  lady  who  takes  such  an  in- 
terest in  your  literary  career  ?  Have  you 
known  her  long  ?  Is  she  a  friend  of  your 
family  ?  " 

The  slight  sneer  that  accompanied  his  ques- 
tion restored  the  natural  color  to  the  young 
man's  face,  but  kindled  his  eye  ominously. 

"  No,"  he  said  briefly.  "  I  met  her  acci- 
dentally about  two  months  ago  and  as  acci- 
dentally found  out  that  she  had  taken  an  in- 
terest in  one  of  the  first  thiufifs  I  ever  wrote 


A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAEA.      285 

for  your  })aper.  She  neither  knew  you  nor 
me.  It  was  then  that  she  told  me  this  story ; 
she  did  not  even  then  know  who  I  was,  though 
she  had  met  some  of  my  family.  She  was 
very  good  and  has  generously  tried  to  help 
me." 

Fletcher's  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  him. 

"  But  this  tells  me  only  ivkat  she  is,  not 
who  she  is." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  inquire  of  her 
brother,  Mr.  Shipley,"  said  ilarcourt  curtly. 

"  Shipley  ?  " 

'•  Yes  ;  he  is  traveling  with  her  for  his 
health,  and  they  are  going  south  when  the 
rains  come.  They  are  wealthy  Philadelphi- 
ans,  I  believe,  and  — and  she  is  a  widow." 

Fletcher  picked  up  her  note  and  glanced 
again  at  the  signature,  "  Constance  Ash- 
wood."  There  was  a  moment  of  silence, 
when  he  resumed  in  quite  a  different  voice  : 
"  It 's  odd  I  never  met  them  nor  they  me." 

As  lie  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  a  re- 
sponse, John  Milton  said  simply  :  "  I  sup- 
pose it 's  because  they  have  not  been  here 
long,  and  are  somewhat  reserved." 

Mr.  Fletcher  laid  aside  the  manuscript 
and  letter,  and  took  up  his  apparently  sus- 
pended work. 


286      A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJAIiA. 

"  When  you  see  this  Mrs.  —  Mrs.  Ash- 
wood  again,  you  might  say  "  — 

"  I  shall  not  see  her  again,"  interrupted 
John  Milton  hastily. 

Mr.  Fletcher  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Very  well,"  he  said  with  a  peculiar  smile, 
"  I  will  write  to  her.  Now,  Mr.  Harcourt," 
he  continued  with  a  sudden  business  brevity, 
"  if  you  please,  we  "11  drop  this  affair  and 
attend  to  the  matter  for  which  I  just  sum- 
moned you.  Since  j^esterday  an  important 
contract  for  which  I  have  been  waiting  is 
concluded,  and  its  performance  will  take  me 
East  at  once.  I  have  made  arrangements 
that  you  will  be  left  in  the  literary  charge 
of  the  '  Clarion.'  It  is  only  a  fitting  rec- 
ompense that  the  paper  owes  to  you  and 
your  father,  —  to  whom  I  hojoe  to  see  you 
presently  reconciled.  Bat  we  won't  discuss 
that  now  !  As  my  affairs  take  me.  back  to 
Los  Gatos  within  half  an  hour,  I  am  sorry 
I  cannot  dispense  my  hospitality  in  person, 
—  but  you  will  dine  and  sleep  here  to-night. 
Good-by.  As  you  go  out  will  you  please 
send  up  Mr.  Jackson  to  me."  He  nodded 
briefly,  seemed  to  plunge  instantly  into  his 
papers  again,  and  John  Milton  was  glad  to 
withdraw. 


A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.       287 

The  shock  he  had  felt  at  Mrs.  Ashwood's 
frigid  disposition  of  his  wishes  and  his  nian- 
uscript  had  benumbed  him  to  any  enjoy- 
ment or  appreciation  of  the  change  in  his 
fortune,  lie  w;;ndered  out  of  the  house  and 
descended  to  the  beach  in  a  dazed,  bewild- 
ered way,  seeing  only  the  words  of  her  let- 
ter to  Fletcher  before  him,  and  striving  to 
grasp  some  other  meaning  from  them  than 
their  coldly  practical  purport.  Perhaps  this 
was  her  cruel  revenge  for  lus  telling  her  not 
to  write  to  him.  Could  she  not  have  di- 
vined it  was  only  his  fear  of  what  she  might 
say  !  And  now  it  was  all  over !  She  had 
washed  her  hands  of  him  with  the  sending 
of  that  manuscript  and  letter,  and  ho  would 
})ass  out  of  her  memory  as  a  foolish,  con- 
ceited ingrate,  • —  perhaps  a  figure  as  wearily 
irritating  and  stupid  to  her  as  the  cousin 
she  had  known,  lie  mechanically  lifted  his 
e3'es  to  the  distant  hotel ;  the  glov/  was  still 
in  the  western  sky,  but  the  blue  lamp  v/as 
already  shining  in  the  window.  His  cheek 
fluslied  quickly,  and  he  turned  away  as  if 
she  could  have  se(u  iii.s  face.  Yes  —  she  de- 
spised him,  and  tlial  was  liis  answer  ! 

When  he  return. ■<],  ?vlr.  Fletcher  had 
gone.     He  dragged  through  a  dinner  v.ith 


288      A   FIBST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

Mr.  Jackson,  Fletcher's  secretary,  and  tried 
to  realize  bis  good  fortune  in  listening  to 
the  subordinate's  congratulations.  "  But  I 
thought,"  said  Jackson,  "  you  had  slipped 
up  on  your  luck  to-day,  when  the  old  man 
sent  for  you.  He  was  quite  white,  and 
ready  to  rip  out  about  something  that  had 
just  come  in.  I  suppose  it  was  one  of  those 
anonymous  things  against  your  father,  —  the 
old  man  's  dead  set  against  'em  now."  But 
John  Milton  heard  him  vaguely,  and  pres- 
ently excused  himself  for  a  row  on  the  moon- 
lit bay. 

The  active  exertion,  with  intervals  of  pla- 
cid drifting  along  the  land-locked  shore, 
somewhat  soothed  him.  The  heaving  Pacific 
beyond  was  partly  hidden  in  a  low  creeping 
fog,  but  the  curving  bay  was  softly  radiant. 
The  rocks  whereon  she  sat  that  morning,  the 
hotel  where  she  was  now  quietly  reading, 
were  outlined  in  black  and  silver.  In  this 
dangerous  contiguity  it  seemed  to  him  that 
her  presence  returned, — not  the  woman  who 
had  met  him  so  coldly ;  who  had  penned 
those  lines  ;  the  woman  from  whom  he  was 
iK)w  parting  forever,  but  the  blameless  ideal 
he  had  worshiped  from  the  first,  and  which 
he  now  felt   could   never  pass   out  of   his 


A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  T AS  AJAR  A.      289 

life  again  !  lie  recalled  their  long  talks, 
their  rarer  rides  and  walks  in  the  city  ;  her 
quick  appreciation  and  ready  sympathy  ; 
her  pretty  curiosity  and  half-maternal  con- 
sideration of  his  foolish  youthful  past ;  even 
the  playful  way  that  she  sometimes  seemed 
to  make  herself  younger  as  if  to  better 
understand  him.  Lingering  at  times  in  the 
shadow  of  the  headland,  ho  fancied  he  saw 
the  delicate  nervous  outlines  of  her  face 
near  his  own  again  ;  the  faint  shading  of  her 
brown  lashes,  the  soft  intelligence  of  her 
gray  eyes.  Drifting  idly  in  the  placid  moon- 
light, pulling  feverishly  across  the  swell  of 
the  channel,  or  lying  on  his  oars  in  the 
sli;illows  of  the  rocks,  but  always  following 
the  curves  of  the  bay,  like  a  bird  circling 
around  a  lighthouse,  it  was  far  in  the  night 
l)cfore  lie  at  last  dragged  his  boat  upon  the 
sand.  Then  he  turned  to  look  once  more  at 
her  distant  window.  lie  would  be  away  in 
the  morning  and  he  should  never  see  it  again  ! 
It  was  very  late,  but  the  blue  light  seemed 
to  be  still  burning  unalterably  and  inflexi- 
bly. 

But  even  as  he  gazed,  a  change  came  over 
it.     A  shadow  seemed    to    })ass    before    the 

blind  ;  the   blue    shade  was    lifted ;   for    an 
j_Brct  Harte  v.  22 


290      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA. 

instant  lie  could  see  the  colorless  star-like 
point  of  the  light  itself  show  cleaii}^  It  was 
over  -low ;  she  was  })utting  out  the  lamp. 
Suddenly  he  lield  his  breath !  A  roseate 
glow  gradually  suffused  the  window  like  a 
burning  blush  ;  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside, 
and  the  red  lamp-shade  gleamed  out  surely 
and  steadily  into  the  darkness. 

Transfigured  and  breathless  in  tlie  moon- 
light, John  Milton  gazed  on  it.  It  seemed 
to  him  the  dawn  of  Love ! 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  winter  rains  had  come.  But  so  plen- 
teously  and  ])crsistently,  and  with  such  fate- 
ful prejiaration  of  circumstance,  that  the 
long-  looked  for  blessing  })resently  became  a 
wonder,  an  anxiety,  and  at  last  a  slowly 
widening"  terror.  JJefore  a  month  had  ]:)assed 
every  mountain,  stream,  and  watercourse, 
surcharged  with  the  melted  snows  of  the 
Sierras,  had  become  a  great  tributary  ;  every 
tributary  a  great  river,  until,  pouring  their 
great  vohime  into  tlie  engorged  channels  of 
the  American  and  Sacramento  rivers,  they 
overlea])ed  their  banivs  and  ])ecame  as  onf; 
vast  inland  sea.  Kveu  to  a  coinitry  alreiuly 
familiar  with  l)road  and  st!ikingcatastro))he, 
th(!  flood  was  a  ])henomen;;l  one.  For  (hiys 
the  sullen  overflow  lay  in  Uie  valley  of  the 
Sacramento,  enormoTis,  sileiit.  cnirentless 
—  except  where  tlie  surplus  watei's  rolled 
through  Carquinez  Sti'aits,  San  Fi'ancisco 
Bay.  and  the  (lolden  (iatt%  and  rea}i])eared 
as  the   vanished    Sacramento    Kiver,   in  an 


292      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJARA. 

outflowing  stream  of  fresh  and  turbid  water 
fifty  miles  at  sea. 

Across  the  vast  inland  expanse,  brooded 
over  by  a  leaden  sky,  leaden  rain  fell,  dim- 
pling like  shot  the  sluggish  pools  of  the  flood ; 
a  cloudy  chaos  of  fallen  trees,  drifting  barns 
and    outhouses,    wagons    and    agricultural 
implements  moved  over  the   surface  of  the 
waters,  or  circled  slowly  around  the  outskirts 
of   forests   that   stood   ankle  deep   in   ooze 
and  the  current,  which  in  serried  phalanx 
they   resisted    still.      As    night   fell    these 
forms  became  still  more  vague  and  chaotic, 
an!  I  were  interspersed  with  the  scattered  lan- 
terns and  flaming  torches  of  relief-boats,  or 
occasionally  the  high  terraced  gleaming  win- 
dows of  the  great  steamboats,  feeling  their 
way  along  the  lost  channel.     At  times  the 
opening  of  a  furnace-door  shot  broad  bars  of 
light  across  the  sluggish  stream  and  into  the 
branches  of  dripping  and  drift-encumbered 
trees ;    at    times   the  looming  smoke-stacks 
sent  out    a  pent-up   breath   of   sparks  that 
illuminated  the  inky  chaos  for  a  moment, 
and  then  fell  as  black  and  dripping  rain. 
Or  perhaps  a  hoarse  shout  from  some  faintly 
outlined  bulk  on  either  side  brought  a  quick 
response  from  the  relief-boats,  and  the  de- 


A   FIIiST  FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA.      293 

taching  of  a  canoe  with  a  blazing  pine-knot 
in  its  bow  into  the  outer  darkness. 

It  was  kite  in  the  afternoon  when  La».- 
rence  Grant,  from  the  deck  of  one  of  the 
hiru'cr  tuirs,  siirhted  what  had  been  once  tlie 
estuary  of  Sidon  Creek.  The  Leader  of  a 
party  of  scientific  observation  and  relief,  he 
had  kept  a  tireless  watch  of  eighteen  hours, 
keenly  noticing  the  work  of  devastation,  the 
changes  in  the  channel,  the  prospects  of 
abatement,  and  the  danger  that  still  threat- 
ened, lie  had  passed  down  the  length  of 
the  submerged  Sacramento  valley,  through 
the  Straits  of  Carquincz,  and  was  now  steam- 
ing along  the  shores  of  the  upper  reaches  of 
San  Francisco  Bay.  Everywhere  the  same 
scone  of  desolation,  —  vast  stretches  of  tule 
land,  once  broken  up  by  cultivation  and 
dotted  with  dwellings,  now  clearly  erased  on 
that  watery  chart ;  long  lines  of  symmetrical 
pers])ective,  breaking  the  monotonous  level, 
showing  orchards  buried  in  the  flood  ;  Indian 
mounds  and  natural  eminences  covered  with 
cattle  or  hastily  erecti'd  camps  :  half  sub- 
merged liouses.  whose  solitary  chimneys,  how- 
ever, still  gave  signs  of  an  undaunted  life 
within  ;  isolated  grou])s  of  trees,  with  their 
lower  branches  heavy  with  the  unwholesome 


294      -I   FIRUT  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAIiA. 

fruit  of  tlio  flood,  in  wisps  of  hay  and  straw, 
rakes  and  pitchforks,  or  jiathetically  shelter- 
ing- some  shivering  and  forgotten  household 
pet.  But  everywhere  the  same  dull,  expres- 
sionless, placid  tranquillity  of  destruction, — 
a  horrible  leveling  of  all  things  in  one  bland 
smiling  equality  of  surface,  beneath  which 
agony,  despair,  and  ruin  were  deeply  buried 
and  forgotten  ;  a  catastrophe  without  con- 
vulsion,—  a  devastation  voiceless,  passion- 
less, and  supine. 

The  boat  had  slowed  up  before  what 
seemed  to  be  a  collecti(m  of  disarranged 
houses  with  the  current  flov.dng  between  lines 
tliut  indicated  the  existence  of  thoroughfares 
and  streets.  ]Many  of  the  lighter  wooden 
buildings  were  huddled  together  on  the  street 
corners  with  their  gables  to  the  flow  ;  some 
appeared  as  if  tliey  liad  fallen  on  their  knees, 
and  others  lay  complacently  on  their  sides, 
'ike  the  liouses  of  a  child's  toy  village.  An 
elevator  still  lifted  itself  above  the  other 
waruliouses  ;  from  the  centre  of  an  enormous 
squ;ire  pond,  once  the  phiza^  still  arose  a 
"  Libi'rty  pole, "  or  flagstaff,  which  now 
su}<}'(>]'ted  a  swinging  lantern,  and  in  tlie 
disu'incc  appeared  tlie  glittering  dome  of 
some  public  building.     Grant  recognized  tho 


A   FIRST   FAMILY    OF   TASAJARA.       295 

scene  at  once.  It  was  all  that  was  left  of 
tlie  invincible  youth  of  Tasajara  I 

As  this  was  an  ol)jective  point  of  tlir 
scheme  of  siirvcy  an-l  relief  for  the  district, 
the  boat  was  niacle  iast  to  the  second  story 
of  one  of  the  warehotises.  It  was  now  used 
as  a  j^eneral  store  and  depot,  and  bore  a 
singular  resemblance  in  its  interior  to  Ilar- 
court's  grocery  at  Sidon.  This  suggestion 
was  the  more  fatefully  indicated  by  the  fact 
tlitit  half  a  dozen  men  were  seated  around  a 
stove  in  the  centre,  more  or  less  given  up  to 
a  kind  of  philosophical  and  lazy  enjoyment 
of  their  enforced  idleness.  And  when  to 
this  was  added  tlie  more  sur])rising  coinci- 
dence that  the  party  consisting  of  Billings, 
I'ftcrs,  and  Wingate, —  former  residents  of 
Sidon  and  first  citiz<nis  of  Tasajara, —  the 
resemblance  was  complete. 

They  were  ruined,  —  but  they  accepted 
their  common  fate  with  a  certain  Indian 
stoicism  and  AVestcrn  sense  of  luimor  that 
for  the  time  lifted  them  above  tlie  vulgar 
complacency  of  their  former  fortunes.  There 
was  a  (hnqvscated,  if  coarse  and  irreverent 
resignati(ui  in  tlicir  ])]iil(>sophy.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  calamity  it  had  been  rougldy 
formulated  by  Billings  in  the  statement  that 


296      A   FIRST  FAMILY   OF  T AS  AJAR  A. 

"  it  was  n't  anybody's  fault ;  there  was  nobody 
to  kill,  and  what  could  n't  be  reached  by  a 
Vigilance  Committee  there  was  no  use  reso- 
lootin'  over,"  When  the  Reverend  Doctor 
Pilsbury  had  suggested  an  appeal  to  a  Higher 
Power,  Peters  had  replied,  good  humoredly, 
that  "  a  Creator  who  could  fool  around  with 
them  in  that  style  was  above  being  interfered 
with  by  prayer."  At  first  the  calamity  had 
been  a  thing  to  fight  against ;  then  it  became 
a  practical  joke,  the  sting  of  which  was  lost 
in  the  victims'  power  of  endurance  and  as- 
sumed ignorance  of  its  purport.  There  was 
something  almost  pathetic  in  their  attempts 
to  understand  its  peculiar  humor. 

"  How  about  that  Europ-e-an  trip  o'  yours, 
Peters  ?  "  said  Billings,  meditatively,  from 
the  depths  of  his  chair.  "  Looks  as  if  those 
Crowned  Heads  over  there  would  have  to 
wait  till  the  water  goes  down  considerable 
afore  you  kin  trot  out  your  wife  and  darters 
before  'em  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Peters,  "  it  rather  pints  that 
way  :  and  ez  far  ez  I  kin  see.  Mame  Billings 
ain't  goin'  to  no  Saratoga,  neither,  this 
year." 

"  Reckon  the  boys  won't  hang  about  old 
Harcourt's    Free    Library  to    see   the   girls 


A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA.       297 

home  from  lectures  and  singing-class  much 
this  year,"  said  Wingate.  "  Wonder  if  Ilar- 
court  ever  thought  o'  this  the  day  he  opened 
it,  and  made  that  rattlin'  speech  o'  his  about 
the  new  property  ?  Clark  says  everything 
built  on  that  mad  3  ground  has  got  to  go 
after  the  water  falls.  Rough  on  Ilarcourt 
after  all  his  other  losses,  eh  ?  lie  oughter 
have  closed  up  with  that  scientific  chap, 
Grant,  and  married  him  to  Clementina  while 
the  big  boom  was  on  "  — 

"  Hush !  "  said  Peters,  indicating  Grant, 
who  had  just  entered  quietly. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Grant, 
stepping  towards  the  group  with  a  grave  but 
perfectly  collected  face  ;  "  on  the  contrary, 
I  am  very  anxious  to  hear  all  the  news  of 
Harcourt's  family.  I  left  for  Xew  York  be- 
fore the  rainy  season,  and  have  only  just  got 
back." 

His  speech  and  manner  appeared  to  be  so 
much  in  keeping  with  the  prevailing  grim 
philosophy  that  Billings,  after  a  glance  at 
the  otliers,  went  on.  "  Ef  you  left  afore  the 
first  rains,"  said  he,  "  you  must  have  left  only 
the  steamer  ahead  of  Fh^teher,  when  he  run 
off  with  Clementina  I  larcourt.  and  you  miglit 
have  come  across  them  on  their  wedding  trip 
in  New  York." 


298      A  FIRST  FAMILY   OF  TASAJAEA. 

Not  a  muscle  of  Grant's  face  changed 
under  tlieir  eager  and  cruel  scrutiny.  "  No, 
I  did  n't,"  he  returned  quietly.  "  But  why 
did  slie  run  away  ?  Did  the  father  object  to 
Fletcher?  If  I  remember  rightly  he  was 
rich  and  a  good  match." 

"  Yes,  but  I  reckon  the  old  man  had  n't 
quite  got  over  the  '  Clarion '  abuse,  for  all 
its  eating  humble  -  pie  and  taking  back  its 
yarns  of  him.  And  may  be  he  might  have 
thought  the  engagement  rather  sudden. 
They  say  that  she  'd  only  met  Fletcher  the 
day  afore  the  engagement." 

"  That  be  d — d,"  said  Peters,  knocking 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  startling  the 
lazy  resignation  of  his  neighbors  by  taking 
his  feet  from  the  stove  and  sitting  u])right. 
"  I  tell  ye,  gentlemen,  I  'm  sick  o'  this  sort 
o'  hog-wash  that 's  been  ladled  round  to  us. 
That  gal  Clementina  Hareourt  and  that  feller 
Fletcher  had  met  not  only  once,  but  many 
times  afore  —  yes  I  they  were  old  friends 
if  it  comes  to  that,  a  matter  of  six  years 
ago." 

Grant's  eyes  were  fixed  eagerly  on  tlie 
S])eakt:i',  altliough  the  others  scarcely  turned 
their  lieads. 

*'  You  know,  gentlemen,''    siiid  I'etcrs,  "  I 


.1    i--niST  FAMILY   OF   TASAJAllA.       299 

never  took  stoek  in  this  yer  story  of  llie 
drowniu'  of  'Li<i,e  Curtis.  Why  ?  Well,  if 
you  wanter  know  —  in  my  opinion  —  there 
never  was  any  'Lige  Curtis  !  " 

Hillings  lifted  his  head  with  difficulty; 
Wingate  turned  his  faee  to  the  speaker. 

'•  There  never  was  a  scrap  o'  pa})er  ever 
found  in  his  cabin  with  the  name  o'  "Ligc 
Curtis  on  it  ;  there  never  was  any  inquiry 
made  for  'Lige  Curtis  ;  there  never  was  any 
sorrowin'  friends  comin'  after  'Lige  Curtis. 
For  why  ?  —  There  ,  never  was  any  'Lige 
Curtis.  The  man  who  passed  himself  off  in 
Sidon  under  that  nauie  —  was  that  man 
Fletrher.  That  "s  how  he  knew  all  about 
llarcourt's  title  :  that 's  how  he  got  his  best 
holt  on  Ilarcoui't.  And  he  did  it  all  to  get 
Clementina  Ilareourt,  whom  the  old  man 
had  refused  to  him  in  Sidon." 

A  grunt  of  incredulity  passed  aroinid  the 
circle.  Such  is  the  fate  of  historical  inno. 
vation  !      Only  Gi'ant  listt-ned  attentively. 

"Ye  ouglit  to  tell  that  yarn  to  John  ]Mil- 
ton,"  said  A\'iugate  ironically  ;  "it's  about 
in  the  style  o"  theiu  stories  he  slings  in 
the  '  Clarion."  "' 

"•  lie's  made  a  good  thing  outer  that  job. 
Wt^nder  what  he  gets  for  them  ?  "  said 
Peters. 


300      A   FIRST  FAMILY  OF   TASAJARA. 

It  was  Billini^s'.s  time  to  rise,  and,  under 
the  influence  of  some  strong  cynical  emotion, 
to  even  rise  to  his  feet.  "  Gets  for  'em  !  — 
gets  for  'em !  1  '11  tell  you  what  he  gets 
for  'em  !  It  beats  this  story  o'  Peters's,  — 
it  beats  the  flood.  It  beats  me  !  Ye 
know  that  boy,  gentlemen  ;  ye  know  how  he 
lister  lie  round  his  father's  store,  reading 
flapdoodle  stories  and  sicli !  Ye  remember 
how  I  uster  try  to  give  him  good  examples 
and  knock  some  sense  into  him?  Ye  re- 
member how,  after  his  father's  good  luck,  he 
spiled  all  his  own  chances,  and  ran  off  with 
his  father's  waiter  gal  —  all  on  account  o' 
them  flapdoodle  books  he  read  ?  Ye  remem- 
ber how  he  sashayed  round  newspaper  offices 
in  'Frisco  until  he  could  write  a  flapdoodle 
story  himself?  Ye  wanter  know  what  ho 
gets  for  'em.  I'll  tell  you.  lie  got  an  in- 
terduction  to  one  of  them  high-toned,  high- 
fahitin',  '  don't-touch-rae  '  rich  widdcrs  from 
Pliiladelfy,  —  that  's  what  he  gets  for  'em  ! 
He  got  her  dead  set  on  him  and  his  stories, 
—  that 's  what  ho  gets  for  'em  I  lie  got  her 
to  put  liim  11])  with  Fletcher  in  the  'Clar- 
ion,' —  that 's  what  he  gets  for  'em.  And 
darn  my  skin  I — ef  wliat  tlicy  say  is  true, 
while  we  liard-workinjr  men  are  sittin'  here 


A    FIRST  FAMILY   OF   T  AS  AJAR  A.       301 

like  drowned  rats  —  that  air  John  Milton, 
oz  never  did  a  stitch  o'  live  work  like  me  'n' 
yerc  ;  ez  never  did  anythin'  but  spin  yarns 
about  ws  ez  did  icorh,  is  now  '  gittin'  for 
'em  '  —  what  ?  Guess  !  Why,  he  's  gittin' 
the  rich  iriddcr  herself  and  lialf  a  million 
dollars  vith  her!  Gentlemen  I  lib'ty  is  a 
good  tiling  —  but  thar  's  some  things  ye  gets 
too  much  lib'ty  of  in  this  country  —  and 
that 's  this  yer  Lib'ty  of  the  Pjress  !  " 


STORIES    OF    AND    FOR   THE    YOUNG 


THE  QUEEI^  OF  THE  PIRATE  ISLE 


I  FiKST  knew  her  as  the  Qiicon  of  the 
Pirate  Isle.  To  the  best  of  my  recollection 
she  had  no  reasonable  right  to  that  title. 
She  was  only  nine  years  old,  inclined  to 
plnmjsness  and  good  hnmor,  deprecated 
violence,  and  had  never  been  to  sea.  l^eed 
it  be  added  that  she  did  noi  live  in  an 
island  and  that  her  name  was  Polly  ? 

Perhaps  T  onght  to  explain  that  she  had 
already  known  other  experiences  of  a 
pnrely  imaginative  character.  Part  of  her 
existence  had  been  passed  as  a  Beggar 
Child, — solely  indicated  by  a  shawl  tightly 
folded  round  her  shonlders,  and  chills ;  as 
a  Schoolmistress,  unnecessarily  severe ;  as 
a  Preacher,  singularly  personal  in  his  re- 
marks, and  once,  after  reading  one  of 
Cooper's  novels,  as  an  Indian  Maiden. 
This  was,  T  believe,  the  only  instance  when 
slie  had  borrowed  from  another's  fiction. 
305 


30fi      THE    (JUEEX    OF    THE    P  J  HATE    IHI.E. 

]\r()-^t  of  the  cliaraetcrs  that  she  assinneJ 
for  davs  and  soiiietimos  weeks  at  a  time 
WQVQ  purely  original  in  conception ;  some 
so  much  so  as  to  be  vague  to  the  general 
understanding.  I  remember  that  her  per- 
sonation of  a  certain  ]\Irs.  Smith,  whose 
individuality  was  su})])osed  to  be  suf- 
ficiently represented  by  a  sunbonnet  woni 
wrong  side  before  and  a  weekly  addition 
to  her  family,  was  never  perfectly  ap- 
preciated by  her  own  circle  although  she 
lived  the  character  for  a  month.  Another 
creation  known  as  "The  Proud  Lady" — a 
being  whose  excessive  and  unreasonable 
haughtiness  was  so  pronounced  as  to  give 
her  features  the  expression  of  extreme 
nausea— caused  her  mother  so  much  alarm 
that  it  had  to  be  abandoned.  This  was 
easily  effected.  The  Proud  Lady  was  un- 
derstood to  have  died.  Indeed,  most  of 
Polly's  impersonations  were  got  rid  of  in 
tins  way,  although  it  by  no  means  pre- 
A'cuted  their  subsequent  reappearance.  *'I 
tlinnaht  ^Frs.  Smith  was  dead,"  remon- 
strat(>d  her  mother  at  the  posthumous 
a])pearaii('(!  of  that  lady  with  a  new  infant. 
"'She  was  buried  alive  and  kcnn  to!"  said 
Polly  with  a  melancholy  air.     Fortunately, 


THE    QT'EEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      307 

the  roprcseiiratioii  of  a  rcsii^^citatc*]  ])orsnii 
rccpiired  such  extraonliiuiry  acliiip:,  and 
was,  tlirouii'li  some  luiccrtaintv  of  coik-c])- 
tioii,  so  closely  allied  in  facial  expression 
to  the  Proud  Ladv,  that  Mrs.  Smith  was 
resuscitated  only  for  a  day. 

Idle  oric'in  of  the  title  of  the  Queen  of 
the  Pirate  Isle  may  be  briefly  stated  as 
follows : — ■ 

An  hour  after  luncheon,  one  day,  Polly, 
Hickory  Hunt,  her  cousin,  and  Wan  Lee, 
a  Chinese  ]>aire,  were  crossina'  the  nursery 
floor  in  a  (^hinese  junk.  The  sea  was  calm 
and  the  sky  cloudless.  Any  chancre  in  the 
Aveather  was  as  unexpected  as  it  is  in  books. 
Suddenly  a  West  Indian  Hurricane, 
purely  local  in  character  and  nnfelt  any- 
where (dse,  struck  ]\raster  Hickory  and 
thi'ew  him  overboard,  wlience,  wildly 
swinnninii:  for  his  life  and  carrying  Polly 
on  Ins  back,  hv  eventually  rea(died  a  Desert 
Island  in  the  (doset.  Here  the  rescued 
jiarty  ]>ut  up  a  tent  made  of  a  table-clotli 
]tro\'identially  siiahdicd  from  the  I'aging 
billows,  luid,  from  two  o'cdock  until  four, 
passed  six  weeks  on  the  island,  suppcu'ted 
only  by  a  ])iece  of  candle,  a  box  of  matclies, 
and  two  peppermint  lozenges.     It  was  at 


308      THE    QUEEN    OF    TEE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

this  time  that  it  became  necessary  to  ac- 
count for  Polly's  existence  among  them, 
and  this  "\vas  only  effected  by  an  alarming 
sacrifice  of  their  morality ;  Hickory  and 
Wan  Lee  instantly  became  Pirates,  and  at 
once  elected  Polly  as  their  Queen.  The 
royal  duties,  which  seemed  to  be  purely 
maternal,  consisted  in  putting  the  Pirates 
to  bed  after  a  day  of  rapine  and  bloodshed, 
and  in  feeding  them  with  licorice  water 
through  a  quill  in  a  small  bottle.  Limited 
as  her  functions  were,  Polly  performed 
them  with  inimitable  gravity  and  unques- 
tioned sincerity.  Even  when  her  com- 
panions sometimes  hesitated  from  actual 
hunger  or  fatigue  and  forgot  their  guilty 
part,  she  never  faltered.  It  was  her  real 
existence ;  her  other  life  of  being  washed, 
dressed,  and  put  to  bed  at  certain  hours  by 
her  mother  was  the  illusion. 

Doubt  and  skepticism  came  at  last, — 
and  came  from  Wan  Lee!  Wan  Lee  of 
all  creatures !  Wan  Lee,  whose  silent, 
stolid,  mechanical  performance  of  a  pi- 
rate's duties^ — a  perfect  imitation  like  all 
his  household  work — had  been  their  one 
delight  and  fascination  ! 

It  was  just  after  the  exciting  capture  of 


THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    Il^LE.      309 

a  lucrcliantman,  Avitli  the  indiscriminato 
slaiightGr  of  all  on  board, — a  spectacle  on 
which  the  round  blue  eyes  of  the  plump 
Polly  had  gazed  with  royal  and  maternal 
tolerance, — and  they  were  buryinj^  the 
booty,  two  tablespoons  and  a  thimble,  in 
the  corner  of  the  closet,  when  Wan  Lee 
stolidly  rose. 

''iMelican  boy  pleenty  fooloe !  ^lelican 
boy  no  Pilat!"  said  the  little  Chinaman, 
substituting  "Fs"  for  "r's"  after  his  usual 
fashion. 

'^Wotcher  say  ?"  said  Hickory,  redden- 
ing with  sudden  confusion. 

'^']\relican  boy's  papa  heap  lickee  him — 
s'pose  him  leal  Pilat,"  continued  Wan  Lee 
doggedly.  "]\relican  boy  Pilat  inside 
housee.  Chinee  boy  Pilat  outside  housee. 
First  choji  Pilar." 

Staggered  by  this  humiliating  state- 
meiit,  Hickory  recovered  himself  in  char- 
acter. "Ah!  Ho!"  he  shrieked,  dancing 
wildly  on  one  leg,  "^lutiny  and  S]dordina- 
shun  !     'Way  with  him  to  the  yard-arm." 

'"Yald-alm — heaj)  foolee  !  Alee  same 
clothes-horse  for  washee  waslice." 

It  was  here  ncH-essary  for  the  Pirate 
Queen  to  assert  her  authority,  which,  as  T 


810     TEE    QUEEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

have  before  stated,  was  somewhat  con- 
fusin2;]_v  matcnial. 

''Go  to  Led  instantly  without  yonr  sup- 
per," she  said  seriously.  ^'Keally,  I  never 
saw  such  bad  jnratcs.  Say  your  prayers, 
and  see  that  you're  np  early  to  church  to- 
morrow." 

It  should  be  explained  that  in  deference 
to  Polly's  proficiency  as  a  preacher,  and 
probably  as  a  relief  to  their  uneasy  con- 
sciences, Divine  Service  had  always  been 
held  on  the  Island.  But  Wan  Lee  con- 
tinued : — 

"Me  no  shabbee  Pilat  inside  liousce  ;  me 
shabbce  Pilat  oidside  housee.  S'pose  you 
lun  away  lonp:side  Chinee  boy — Chinee 
boy  make  you  Pilat." 

Hickory  softly  scratched  his  lep:,  while 
a  broad,  bashful  smile  almost  closed  liis 
small  eyes.     "Wot  ?"  he  asked. 

"Mebbe  you  too  flic^htened  to  lun  away. 
Melican  boy's  papa  heap  lickee." 

This  last  infamous  suu'ffostion  fired  the 
corsair's  blood.  "Dy'ar  think  we  daro- 
sen't  ?"  said  Hickory  des])erately,  l>ut  with 
an  uneasy  glance  at  Polly.  "I'll  show  yer 
to-morrow." 

The  entrance  of  Polly's  mother  at  this 


THE    <Jii:E\    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      311 

iiioinciit  j)nt  an  end  to  Polly's  anthority 
and  dis])('rs<>d  the  pirate  band,  bnt  left 
Wan  Lee's  ])ro])Osal  and  Hickory's  rash 
accej^tanee  ringinc:  in  the  ears  of  the  Pirate 
Qneen.  That  evening  she  was  nnnsnally 
silent.  She  wonUl  have  taken  Bridget, 
her  nurse,  into  her  contidence,  bnt  this 
would  iiave  involved  a  long  explanation 
of  her  own  feelings,  from  which,  like  all 
imaginative  children,  she  shrardv.  She, 
however,  made  preparation  for  the  pro- 
loosed  flight  l)v  settling  in  lier  mind  which 
of  lier  two  dolls  she  wonld  take.  A  wooden 
creatnre  with  easy-going  knees  and  mov- 
able hair  seemed  to  he  more  fit  for  hard 
service  and  any  indiscriminate  scalping 
tliat  miglit  turn  np  hereafter.  At  snpper, 
she  timidly  a-^ked  a  qnestion  of  Bridget. 
''Did  ye  ever  hear  the  loikes  nv  that, 
ma'am  ^"  said  the  Irish  handmaid  with 
affectionate  jn-ide.  '^Shnre  the  darlint's 
head  is  filled  noight  and  day  with  ancient 
history.  Slic's  after  asking  me  now  if 
(}neens  ever  rnn  away!''  To  Polly's  re- 
morsefu]  coiifnsion  here  her  good  father, 
ecjnally  prmid  of  her  precocious  interest 
and  his  <i\vn  knowl<  du'e.  at  once  interfered 
with  an  unintelliu'ible  account  of  the  abdi- 


312     THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

cation  of  various  queens  in  history  until 
Polly's  head  ached  again.  Well  meant  as 
it  was,  it  only  settled  in  the  child's  mind 
that  she  must  keep  the  awful  secret  to 
herself  and  that  no  one  could  understand 
her. 

The  eventful  day  dawned  without  any 
unusual  sign  of  importance.  It  was  one 
of  the  cloudless  summer  days  of  the  Cali- 
fornian  foothills,  bright,  dry,  and,  as  the 
morning  advanced,  hot  in  the  white  sun- 
shine. The  actual,  prosaic  house  in  which 
the  Pirates  apparently  lived  was  a  mile 
from  a  mining  settlement  on  a  beautiful 
ridge  of  pine  woods  sloping  gently  towards 
a  valley  on  the  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
falling  abruptly  into  a  dark  deep  olive 
gulf  of  pine-trees,  rocks,  and  patches  of 
red  soil.  Beautiful  as  the  slope  was,  look- 
ing over  to  the  distant  snow  peaks  which 
seemed  to  be  in  another  world  than  theirs, 
the  children  found  a  greater  attraction  in 
the  fascinating  depths  of  a  mysterious 
gulf,  or  canon,  as  it  was  called,  whose  very 
name  filled  their  ears  w4th  a  weird  music. 
To  creep  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  to  sit 
upon  the  brown  branches  of  some  fallen 
pine,  and,  putting  aside  the  dried  tassels, 


THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      818 

to  look  dowTi  upon  the  backs  of  wheeling 
hawks  that  pcenicd  to  hang  in  mid-air  was 
a  never-failing  delight.  Here  Polly  wonld 
try  to  trace  the  winding  red  ribbon  of  road 
that  was  continually  losing  itself  among 
the  dense  pines  of  the  opposite  mountains ; 
here  she  would  listen  to  the  far-olf  strokes 
of  a  woodman's  axe,  or  the  rattle  of  some 
heavy  wagon,  miles  away,  crossing  the 
pebbles  of  a  dried-up  watercourse.  Hero, 
too,  the  prevailing  colors  of  the  mountains, 
red  and  white  and  green,  most  showed 
themselves.  There  were  no  fro\\Tiing  rocks 
to  depress  the  children's  fancy,  but  every- 
where along  the  ridge  pure  white  quartz 
bared  itself  through  the  red  earth  like 
smiling  teeth  ;  the  very  pebbles  they  played 
with  were  streaked  with  shining  mica  like 
bits  of  looking-glass.  The  distance  was 
always  green  and  summer-like,  but  the 
color  they  most  loved,  and  which  was  most 
familiar  to  them,  was  the  dark  red  of  the 
ground  beneath  their  feet  every^vhere.  It 
showed  itself  in  the  roadside  bushes ;  its 
rod  dust  |X}rvaded  the  leaves  of  the  over- 
hanging laurel;  it  colored  their  shoes  and 
pinafores ;  I  am  afraid  it  was  often  seen 
in  Indian-like  patches  on  their  faces  and 


814     THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

hands.  That  it  may  have  often  given  a 
sanguinary  tone  to  their  fancies  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe. 

It  was  on  this  ridge  that  the  three  chil- 
dren gathered  at  ten  o'clock  that  morning. 
An  earlier  flight  had  been  impossible  on 
account  of  Wan  Lee  being  obliged  to  per- 
form his  regular  duty  of  blacking  the  shoes 
of  Polly  and  Hickory  before  breakfast, — 
a  menial  act  which  in  the  ])ure  re^mblic 
of  childhood  was  never  thought  incon- 
sistent with  the  loftiest  piratical  ambition. 
On  the  ridge  they  met  one  ''Patsey,"  the 
son  of  a  neighbor,  sun-bunied,  broad- 
brimmed  hatted,  red-handed,  like  them- 
selves. As  there  were  afterwards  some 
doubts  expressed  whether  he  joined  the 
Pirates  of  his  own  free  will,  or  was  cap- 
tured by  them,  I  endeavor  to  give  the 
colloquy  exactly  as  it  occurred : — 

Pats'ev:  "Hallo,  fellers." 

The  Pirates:  "ITellol" 

Patscy :  "Goin'  to  hunt  bars  ?  Dad  seed 
a  lot  o'  tracks  at  sun-up." 

The  Pirates  (hesitating)  :  "Xo — o — " 

Patsey:  '4  am;  know  where  I  kin  get  a 
six-sliooter  <^" 

The  Pirates   (almost  ready  to  abandon 


THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    JSLE.      Slf) 

piracy  for  bcar-limitiiif!:,  but  preserviriG; 
their  diiinity)  :  "Can't!  We've  runn'd 
away  for  real  pirates." 

Patscy  :  "Xot  for  good  !" 

The  (^iieen  (interposing  with  sad  dig- 
nity and  real  tears  in  her  ronnd  bine 
eyes):  ''Yes!''  (slowly  and  shaking  her 
head).  "Can't  go  back  again.  Xever! 
Never!   Never!     The — the — eye  is  cast!" 

l*atsey  (bursting  with  excitement)  : 
"Xo-o!     Sho'o !    Wanter  know." 

The  Pirates  (a  little  frightened  them- 
sel\-es,  but  tremnlous  with  gratified  van- 
ity) :  "Tlie  Perleese  is  on  onr  track  1" 

Patsey:  "Leinine  go  with  yer!" 

Hickory:  "Wot'll  yer  giv  f ' 

Patsey:  "Pistol  and  er  bananer." 

Hickory  (with  jndicions  })rudence)  : 
"Let's  see  'ein." 

Patsey  was  off  like  a  shot;  his  bare 
little  red  feet  trendiling  nnder  him.  In  a 
few  inimite^  he  returned  with  an  old- 
fashioned  rev(dv(n'  known  as  one  of  "Al- 
len's pepper-boxt's"  and  a  large  banana, 
lie  was  at  (juce  enr(dled,  and  the  banana 
taten. 

As  yet  they  had  resolved  on  no  definite 
nefarious  plan.     Hickory,  looking  down  at 


316     TEE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

Patsey's  bare  feet,  instantly  took  off  his 
own  slioes.  Tliis  bold  act  sent  a  thrill 
through  his  companions.  Wan  Lee  took 
off  his  cloth  leggings,  Polly  removed  her 
slioos  and  stockings,  bnt,  with  royal  fore- 
sight, tied  them  np  in  her  handkerchief. 
Tlie  last  link  between  them  and  civiliza- 
tion was  broken. 

^'Let's  go  to  the  Slumgnllion." 
"Shimgullion"  was  the  name  given  by 
the  miners  to  a  certain  soft,  half-liqnid 
mnd,  formed  of  the  water  and  finely 
powdered  earth  that  was  carried  off  by 
the  slnice-boxes  during  gold-washing,  and 
eventnally  collected  in  a  broad  pool  or  la- 
goon before  the  ontlet.  Tliere  was  a  pool . 
of  tliis  kind  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
where  tliere  were  "diggings"  worked  by 
Patsey's  father,  and  thither  they  pro- 
ceeded along  the  ridge  in  single  file. 
When  it  was  reached  they  solemnly  began 
to  wade  in  its  viscid  paint-like  shallows. 
Possibly  its  nnctuonsness  was  pleasant  to 
the  touch ;  possibly  there  was  a  fascination 
in  the  fact  that  their  parents  had  forbidden 
them  to  go  near  it,  bnt  probably  the  princi- 
pal object  of  this  performance  was  to  pro- 
duce a  thick  coating  of  mud  on  the  feet  and 


THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      Sll 

ankles,  which,  when  dried  in  the  sun,  was 
supposed  to  harden  the  skin  and  render 
their  shoes  superfluous.  It  was  also  felt  to 
be  the  first  real  step  towards  independence ; 
tliev  looked  down  at  their  ensanguined 
extremities  and  recognized  the  impossi- 
bility of  their  ever  again  crossing  (un- 
washed) the  family  threshold. 

Then  they  again  hesitated.  There  was 
a  manifest  need  of  some  well-defined 
piratical  purpose.  The  last  act  was  reck- 
less and  irretrievable,  but  it  was  vague. 
They  gazed  at  each  other.  There  was  a 
stolid  look  of  resigned  and  superior  toler- 
ance in  Wan  Lee's  eyes. 

Polly's  glance  wandered  do\vTi  the  side 
of  the  slope  to  the  distant  little  tunnels  or 
openings  nuide  by  the  miners  who  were  at 
work  in  the  bowels  of  the  mountain.  "I'd 
like  to  go  into  one  of  them  funny  holes," 
she  said  to  herself,  half  aloud. 

Wan  Lee  suddenly  began  to  blink  his 
eyes  with  unwonted  excitement.  "Catchee 
tunnel — heap  gold,"  he  said  quickly. 
''When  manee  come  outside  to  catchee 
dinner — Pilats  go  inside  catchee  tunnel ! 
Shabbee !  Pilats  catchee  gold  allee  samee 
^lelican  man !" 


818     THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

"And  take  pcrsoshiun,"  said  Iliekory. 

"And  hoist  the  Pirate  flag,"  said  Patsey. 

"And  build  a  fire,  and  cook,  and  have  a 
family,"  said  Polly. 

The  idea  \vas  fascinating  to  the  point  of 
being  irresistible.  The  eyes  of  the  four 
children  became  rounder  and  rounder. 
They  seized  each  other's  hands  and  swung 
them  backwards  and  forwards,  occasionally 
lifting  their  legs  in  a  solemn  rhythmic 
movement  known  only  to  childhood. 

"It's  orful  far  off  J"  said  Patsoy  with  a 
sudden  look  of  dark  importance.  "Paj) 
says  it's  free  miles  on  the  road.  Take  all 
day  ter  get  there." 

The  bright  faces  were  overcast. 

"Less  go  down  er  slide!"  said  Hickory 
boldly. 

Thoy  approached  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 
The  "slide"  was  simply  a  sharp  incline 
zigzaga'ing  down  the  side  of  the  mountain 
used  for  sliding  goods  and  provisions  from 
the  summit  to  the  tunnel-men  at  the  dif- 
ferent openings  below.  The  continual 
traflic  had  gradually  worn  a  shallow  gully 
half  fillf'd  witl)  earth  and  gravel  into  the 
face  of  the  mountain  which  checked  the 
momentum  of  the  goods  in  their  downward 


TTIE    QUEEN    OF    TEE    EI  RATE    ISLE.     319 

passac^c,  but  afforded  no  footliold  for  a 
jx-dostrian.  Xo  one  had  ever  been  known 
to  dc'seond  a  slide.  That  feat  was  evi- 
dently reserved  for  the  Pirate  band.  Th(>v 
approached  the  edge  of  the  slide,  hand  in 
hand,  hesitated,  and  the  next  moment 
disappeared. 

Five  minntes  later  the  tnnnel-men  of 
the  Ivxcelsior  mine,  a  mile  below,  taking 
tlieir  Inneheon  on  the  rude  platform  of 
debris  l)efore  their  tunnel,  were  suddenly 
driven  to  slielter  i]i  the  tunnel  from  an 
a])]iar('nt  rain  of  stones,  and  rocks,  and 
jiebbles,  from  the  cliffs  above.  Looking 
up,  they  were  startled  at  seeing  four  round 
objects  revolving  and  bounding  in  the  dust 
of  the  slide,  which  eventually  resolved 
themselves  into  three  boys  and  a  girl.  For 
a  moment  the  good  men  held  their  breath 
in  helpless  terror.  Twice  one  of  tlu^  chil- 
dren had  struck  the  outer  edge  of  the  bank, 
and  dis])ln('('d  stones  that  shot  a  thousand 
feet  down  into  the  dizzy  de])ths  of  tlic  val- 
ley; and  now  one  of  them,  the  girl,  had 
actually  rolled  out  of  the  slide  and  was 
hanging  over  the  chasm  supported  oidy  by 
a  clump  of  chamisal  to  which  sh(>  clung! 

"Hang  on  by  your  eyelids,  sis  !  but  don't 


820     THE    QUEEN    OF    TEE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

stir,  for  Heaven's  sake!"  shouted  one  of 
the  men,  as  two  others  started  on  a  hope- 
less ascent  of  the  cliff  above  them. 

But  a  light  childish  laugh  from  the 
clinging  little  figure  seemed  to  mock  them ! 
Then  two  small  heads  appeared  at  the  edge 
of  the  slide;  then  a  diminutive  figure, 
whose  feet  were  apparently  held  by  some 
invisible  companion,  was  shoved  over  the 
brink  and  stretched  its  tiny  arms  towards 
the  girl.  But  in  vain,  the  distance  was  too 
great.  Another  laugh  of  intense  youthful 
enjoyment  followed  the  failure,  and  a  new 
insecurity  was  added  to  the  situation  by 
the  unsteady  hands  and  shoulders  of  the 
relieving  party,  who  were  apparently  shak- 
ing with  laughter.  Then  the  extended 
figure  was  seen  to  detach  what  looked  like 
a  small  black  rope  from  its  shoulders  and 
throw  it  to  the  girl.  There  was  another 
little  giggle.  The  faces  of  the  men  below 
paled  in  terror.  Then  Polly, — for  it  was 
she, — hanging  to  the  long  pigtail  of  Wan 
Lee,  was  dravTi  with  fits  of  laughter  back 
in  safety  to  the  slide.  Their  childish 
treble  of  appreciation  was  answered  by  a 
ringing  cheer  from  below. 

"Darned  ef  I  ever  want  to  cut  off  a 


THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      321 

Cliinamaii's  pigtail  again,  boys/'  said  one 
of  the  tunnel-men  as  ho  went  back  to 
dinner. 

Meantime  the  cliildren  had  readied  the 
goal  and  stood  before  the  opening  of  one  of 
the  tunnels.  Then  these  fonr  heroes  who 
liad  looked  with  cheerful  levity  on  the 
deadly  ])eril  of  tlieir  descent  became  sud- 
denly frightened  at  the  mysterious  dark- 
ness of  the  cavern  and  turned  pale  at  its 
thresliold. 

"]\reblx^e  a  wicked  Joss  backside  holee, 
ho  catchee  Pilats,"  said  Wan  Lee  gravely. 

Hickory  Ix^gan  to  whimper,  Patsey  drew 
back,  Polly  alone  stood  her  ground,  albeit 
witli  a  trembling  lip. 

"Let's  say  our  prayers  and  frighten  it 
away,"  she  said  stoutly. 

"Xo !  no!"  said  Wan  Lee,  with  a  sud- 
d(Mi  alarm.  "Xo  frighten  S])illits !  Yon 
waitee!  Chinee  boy  he  talkee  Spillit  not 
to  f  I'igliten  you."  * 

Tucking  his  linnds  under  his  blue  blouse. 
Wan  Lee  suddenly  produced  from  some 
mvstcrinus  recess  of  his  clothing  a  quantity 
of  red   paper  sli])s  which  he  scattered  at 

1  The  Chinese  pray  devoutly  to  the  Evil  Spirits  not  to 
injure  them. 

K— Bret  Harte  v.  22 


322      THE    QUEEy    OF    TEE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

the  eiitraiicG  of  the  cavern.  Then  drawing 
from  the  ^anie  inexhanstible  receptacle 
cerlain  siiuib.-  or  tirework^,  he  let  them  ofi" 
and  threw  them  into  the  opening.  There 
they  A\'ent  off  with  a  slight  lizz  and 
•splutter,  a  momentary  glittering  of  small 
])(»ints  in  the  darkness,  and  a  strong  smell 
of  gnn|X)wder.  Polly  gazed  at  the  sjx^c- 
tade  with  nndisgnised  awe  and  fascination. 
Hickory  and  Patsey  Lreatlied  hard  with 
satisfaction:  it  ^\■as  Ijoyond  tht-ir  wildest 
di-eams  of  mystery  ami  romance.  Even 
Wan  Lee  a})])eared  transfignrcd  into  a  sn- 
perior  h,  ;ng  hy  the  potency  of  his  own 
spells.  ]]nt  aa  nnacconntable  distnrbance 
of  some  kind  in  rhe.dim  interior  of  the 
tnnnel  (jr.ickly  drew  the  blo(jd  from  their 
1)h;iiclu<i  cheeks  again.  It  was  a  soiDid 
like  congliing,  followed  by  something  like 
an  oath. 

'Hle's  made  the  Evil  S])irit  orfid  sick,'" 
said  Hickory  in  a  lond  ^,vhis])er. 

A  sliglit  langh,  that  to  the  children 
seeme(l  di'moni'ical,  fokowed. 

'"See!""  ^aid  A\'an  Lee.  "Evil  S])ilk't  he 
lil<ee  ('hiiiee;  try  tcdkec;  him.'' 

The  iMrale-  i.-ekcil  at  Wan  Lee.  not 
witlioiit    a    cell ai  11    c:i\\-    (d'   this    manifest 


THE    <)l'EEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      328 

l';i\'()riti>iii.  A  fearful  (.Icsire  to  ('(jiitiuuo 
i'u'ii'  ;i\\t'iil  cxjici'iiiK'iils,  iiisicad  <)(  pur^u- 
iiiu'  ilicir  piratical  avocatiou^^,  was  lakin::' 
|i(i<~c,--,-i(iii  (if  tlioiii;  Init  l^'ll.v,  with  one  of 
till'  -\\ii"l  n'aiisitions  of  cliildliood.  iiiuiK;- 
(liatt'ly  l)('<iaii  to  extemporize  a  house  for 
the  pai'tv  at  tlie  uioutli  of  thc'  tuuiicl,  and, 
with  parental  foresiii'ht,  li'athered  the  fra,<i"- 
tiieiil,-  of  die  s(piibs  to  build  a  fire  for 
supp(i'.  dduit  frnu'al  meal,  eonsistim:'  of 
half  a  a'lnu'er  biscuit  divideil  info  five  small 
portion-,  each  <erved  oti  a  chi])  of  wood, 
and  ha\'ina  a  delicionsly  mysterious  llavor 
of  a'uni:nwdei'  and  smoke,  ^\-as  soon  o\'er. 
It  was  neces^ary  after  this  that  the  Pirates 
sh.onld  at  once  >eek  re])ose  after  a  day  of 
ad\'eiilni'e.  wliii'h  ihc-y  did  for  rlie  space  of 
foi'i\'  seconds  iii  siuiiularly  impo.-sil)le  at- 
titmh-  and  far  tiw)  au'i:'re>sivc  snoring'. 
rndeeiK  Ala.-tt'r  llickory's  almost  upriuht 
])o~e,  wiili  iii!-htly  foldeil  arms  and  darkly 
frowiiiim'  brnws.  was  feh  to  be  dramatic, 
bur  iiiipo>sibie  for  a  lonu'er  ])eriod.  The 
brief'  iiiter\-ad  enabled  i^ll]y  to  collect  her- 
self and  to  1m(i1<  around  hei-  in  her  iismd 
motheriv  fa-hioii.  Suddenly  >ho  started 
and  ullered  a  ei'v.  In  ilie  excitement  of 
the    ilcr-cent    she   had    qiute   overlooked   lier 


324     THE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

doll,  and  was  now  regarding  it  with 
ronnd-ojed  horror. 

"Lady  ^Mary's  liair's  gone !"  she  cried, 
convnlsivelj  grasping  the  Pirate  Hickory's 
legs. 

Hickory  at  once  recognized  the  l)attered 
doll  under  tlie  aristocratic  title  which 
Polly  had  long  ago  bestowed  npon  it.  lie 
stai'ed  at  the  bald  and  battered  head. 

"Ila !  ha  I"  he  said  hoarsely;  ''skel])ed 
by  Injins !" 

Por  an  instant  the  delicions  snggestion 
soothed  the  imaginative  Polly.  ]jnt  it  was 
qnickly  dispelled  by  Wan  Lee. 

"Lady  ]\Ialey's  pigtail  hangee  to])  side; 
liillee.  Catchee  oji  big  qnartz  stone  allee 
same  Polly;  me  go  fetchee." 

"Xo  !' ■'  qnickly  shrieked  the  others.  Tlie 
]n'os]>ect  of  being  left  in  the  jn'oximity  of 
Wan  Lee's  evil  s])irit,  without  AVan  Lee's 
exorcising  power,  was  anything  but  reas- 
suring. "Xo,  dou't  go!"  Even  Polly 
fdrojjping  a  uuiteriuil  tear  on  the  bald  head 
of  Lady  .Alary)  protested  against  this 
breaking  u]i  of  the  little  circle.  "(h>  to 
bed  I"  she  said  aulhoritati\'ely,  "and  sleep 
till  moi'ning." 

Thus  admonished,  the  Pirates  aa-ain  re- 


THE    QVEES    OF    THE    PJTiATE    If^EE.     325 

tirod.  This  tiiiio  offoctivolj;  for,  worn  l)v 
ai'tnal  t'atiu'iio  or  soothed  In-  the  delicious 
codliiess  of  the  eavc,  th(\v  "'radually,  one 
by  (^iie,  siieeinnbed  to  real  slumber.  Polly, 
withheld  from  joininc;  them  by  official  and 
maternal  rc^spon^ibility,  sat  and  blinked  at 
them  affectionately. 

Gradually  she,  too,  felt  herself  yielding 
to  the  fascination  and  mystery  of  the  ])lace 
and  the  solitnde  that  encompassed  her. 
Heyond  the  ])leasant  shadows  where  she 
sat,  she  saw  the  great  world  of  mountain 
and  valley  throngli  a  dreamy  haze  that 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  depths  below  and 
occasionally  hang  l>efore  the  cavern  like  a 
veil.  Long  waves  of  s])icy  heat  rolling  up 
the  mountain  from  the  valley  l)rought  her 
the  smell  of  jiine-trees  and  bay,  and  made 
tii(>  land-ca])e  swim  before  her  eyes.  She 
conld  hear  the  far-off  cry  of  teamsters  on 
some  unseen  road  ;  she  conld  see  the  far-off 
cloud  of  dust  following  the  mountain  stage- 
coach, whose  rattling  wheels  she  could  not 
hear.  She  felt  very  lonely,  but  was  not 
(piite  afraid  ;  she  felt  very  nudaucholy,  but 
was  not  entirely  sad;  and  sIk^  could  have 
easily  awakened  her  sleeping  companions 
if  she  wished. 


826      THE    OT-EEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

Xo ;  ?^lio  Ava^  a  ]rmo  ^x\<]o^^■  witli  iiiiif; 
ehildron,  ?ix  of  whom  were  already  in  the 
]oiio  (•liiivcliyard  on  tlic  liill,  and  tlie  others 
lying  ill  with  nica^los  and  scarlet  fever  be- 
side her.  She  had  jnst  walked  many 
weary  miles  that  day,  and  had  often  heii'iivd 
from  door  to  door  for  a  slice  of  bread  for 
the  starving'  little  oiies.  It  was  of  no  ns<i 
now — they  wonld  die  !  They  wonld  Jiever 
see  their  dear  mother  again.  This  Avas  a 
favorite  imaginative  sitnation  of  Polly's^ 
but  only  indnlged  wIumi  her  com])anions 
were  asleep,  partly  l}ecanse  she  conld  not 
trnst  confederates  with  her  more  serlons 
faiicies,  and  ]^artly  ]x>cans(_'  they  were  at 
snch  times  jiassivo  in  her  hands.  She 
glanced  timidly  aronnd.  Satisticnl  that  no 
one  conld  observe  her,  she  softly  visite(l 
the  bedside  of  each  of  her  companions,  and 
administered  from  a  purely  fictitions  bottle 
spoonfnls  of  invisible  medicine.  Physical 
correction  in  the  form  of  slight  ta]is,  which 
thr'V  ah\'ays  reqtiired,  and  in  which  Polly 
wa^  strong,  was  oidy  withheld  now  from  a 
sense  of  their  weak  condition.  Pnt  in 
\:iin  ;  they  snccnmbed  to  the  fell  disease, — 
they  always  died  at  this  juncture, — and 
Poily  was  left  alone.     She  tlnnight  of  th<; 


tut:  QVEEy  of  the   pirate   isf.E.    327 

little  c'linrch  ^vlloro  slio  hnd  onre  s(-(ti  a 
finioral,  niul  roiiieinbcrcd  the  nice  siiicil  of 
the  tlowors ;  slio  dwelt  with  ineliiiiehoiy 
satisfaction  of  the  luiie  little  tombstones 
in  the  a'l'avcyard,  each  with  im  inscription, 
and  looked  forward  with  a'entle  antici])a- 
tion  to  the  lonp,'  summer  days  when,  with 
Lady  ]\rary  in  her  lap,  she  won  Id  sit  on 
tho-e  ii'raves  clad  in  the  dee]icst  monrninu'. 
The  fact  that  the  nnha]ipy  victims  at  times 
moved  as  it  were  nneasily  in  their  a'raves, 
oi-  snored,  did  not  affect  Polly's  imati'i na- 
tive contemplation,  nor  withhold  the  tears 
that  a'ath(-red  in  her  ronnd  eyes. 

Pi'csently,  the  lid-  of  the  ronnd  eyes 
l)euan  to  droop,  the  landscape  teyond  heijan 
to  1)0  more  confnsed,  and  sometimes  to  dis- 
ajtpear  cntircdy  and  rea]^])car  ag-ain  with 
startling  distinctness.  Then  a  sound  of 
ripplinu'  water  from  the  little  stream  that 
ll<iwed  from  the  month  of  thc>  tnniud 
soothed  her  and  seemed  to  carry  her  away 
with  it,  and  then  e\'ervthinii'  ^vas  dark. 

Th(>  next  thinu'  that  she  r(Miieiid)ei'ed 
wa~  that  Aw  wa^  apparently  UMiii;'  carried 
aloiiii'  oil  some  alidiiiii'  object  to  the  soimtl 
(jf  rip])linii'  water.  She  was  not  alone,  t'n* 
her   three   companions    were    lying   be>idc 


328     TEE    QUEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

her,  rather  tightly  packed  and  squeezed  in 
the  same  mvstcrions  vehicle.  Even  in  the 
])rofonnd  darkness  that  snrronnded  her, 
Pollv  conld  feel  and  hear  that  they  were 
accompanied,  and  once  or  twice  a  faint 
streak  of  light  from  the  side  of  the  tnnnel 
showed  her  gigantic  shadows  walking 
slowly  on  either  side  of  the  gliding  car. 
She  felt  the  little  hands  of  her  associates 
seeking  hers,  and  knew  they  were  awake 
and  conscions,  and  she  retnrned  to  each  a 
reassuring  pressnre  from  the  large  pro- 
tecting instinct  of  her  maternal  little 
heart.  Presently  the  car  glided  into  an 
open  space  of  bright  light,  and  stopped. 
The  transition  from  the  darkness  of  the 
tnnnel  at  first  dazzled  their  eyes.  It  was 
like  a  dream. 

They  were  in  a  circnlar  cavern  from 
which  three  other  tnnncls,  like  the  one 
they  had  passed  throngh,  diverged.  The 
walls,  lit  np  by  fifty  or  sixty  candles  stnck 
at  iriTgnlar  intervals  in  crevices  of  the 
rock,  were  of  glittering  qnartz  and  mica. 
l)iit  more  remarkable  than  all  were  the  in- 
mates f)f  the  cavern,  who  were  ranged 
round  tlie  Avails, — men  who,  like  their  at- 
tendants,  seemed   to  be  of  extra   statnre ; 


THE    QUEEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.     329 

wlio  liad  blackened  faeos,  wore  rod  ban- 
dana liandkorcliicfs  ronnd  their  heads 
and  tlieir  ,vaists,  and  cari'ied  enornions 
knives  and  pistols  stnck  in  their  Ixdts.  On 
a  raised  jilatforni  made  of  a  packing-box 
on  "which  was  rndely  ])ainted  a  sknll  and 
cross-bones,  sat  the  chief  oi-  leader  of  the 
hand  covered  with  a  bnfFalo  robe  ;  on  cither 
side  of  liini  were  two  small  barrcds  marked 
'"Groo'"  and  ''Gnn])owder.''  The  children 
stared  and  chmo;  closer  to  Polly.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  these  desperate  and  warlike  ac- 
cessories, the  strana'crs  bore  a  sinc:nlar  re- 
semblance to  "Christy  ^Hnstrels"  in  their 
blackened  faces  and  attitndes  that  somehow 
made  them  seem  less  awfnl.  Tn  particular, 
P(")lly  was  impressed  with  the  fact  that 
even  tlie  most  ferocions  had  a  certain 
kindliness  of  eye,  and  showed  their  teeth 
almost  idiotically. 

"^Welcome!"  said  the  leader, — "welcome 
to  tlie  Pirates'  Cave!  The  Ped  Pover  of 
the  Xortli  F(trk  of  the  S^anislan.s  Piver 
salntes  the  Queen  of  the  Pirate  Tslc!" 
IT(>  rose  u])  and  made  an  extraordinary 
bow.  It  was  repeated  by  the  others  with 
more  or  less  exag-o-oration,  to  the  point  of 
one  humorist  losing  his  balance ! 


330     THE    QUEE\    OF    THE    PIRATE    Ti^I.E. 

"Oil,  tliank  yon  vott  mneh,"  paid  Polly 
timidly,  but  drawinc.-  lior  littlo  flock  closor 
to  her  ^vith  a  small  protoetiiiG;  ann;  "but 
coidd  yon — Avould  yon — please — tell  ns — 
Avliat  time  it  is  T' 

'■W(^  -are  a])])roacliinir  the  middle  of 
Xext  Week,"  said  tlio  leader  a'ravely ;  "l)nt 
what  of  that?  Time  is  made  for  slaves! 
The  Tied  Rover  seeks  it  not!  Why  should 
the  Queen  ?" 

"I  think  we  must  he  o:oinc:,"  hesitated 
Polly,  yet  by  no  means  displeased  with  the 
reeoo'nition  of  her  rank. 

"Xot  until  we  have  paid  homaire  to 
Your  ]\[ajesty,"  returned  the  leader. 
"What  ho!  there!  Let  Brother  Step-aud- 
Peteh-Tt  pass  the  Queen  around  that  we 
may  do  lier  honor."  Ob-^ervinff  that  Polly 
shrank  slightly  back,  he  added:  "Pear 
nothino';  the  man  who  hurts  a  hair  of  Tier 
^lajestv's  head  dies  bv  this  hand.  Ah ! 
hal'" 

The  others  all  said  ha!  ha!  and  daneed 
alternately  on  one  ]o<x  and  then  on  the 
othei-,  but  always  with  the  same  dark  re- 
semblanee  to  Christy  Miu-ti'ol^.  Ih'othcr 
Stcp-and-Feteli-Tt,  ^^'hose  very  long  beard 
had  a  coiifusinii;  snugestion  of  Ixdnp:  a  ])art 


77//:  Qcr:i:\   of  the   pi i^ ate  ii<fj:.   331 


i»t'  tlif  Icndci-'s  l)iifT:i]o  Yn\)(\  lifted  \\wy 
.u'c!itly  ill  liis  ai'iiis  and  carried  hei'  tn  the 
licd  IJovcrs  in  tiii'ii.  Kach  rme  beslowed 
a  ki-s  iijKiii  lier  clioek  fir  fei'clic^ad,  and 
\vniild  lia\'f'  taken  her  in  his  arms,  nr  oii 
Ins  kiHM^-,  (If  otherwise^  linircred  ()\-e]-  his 
salute,  l)i;t  they  wore  stcrnlv  resrrained  ky 
tiieir  leadei".  When  the  selenin  ]'ite  was 
eeiudiided,  Ste])-and-Fetek-l t  paid  hi-  own 
e()ni"t(sy  witli  an  extra  sqnceze  of  thi'  cnrly 
head,  and  deiv)sited  Iior  aa'ain  in  tlie  truck, 
a  liltk^  fria'htened,  a  litll<'  a-!oiii<iied,  linl 
with  a  considerakle  accessien  to  iier  diir- 
nity.  Ilick'ory  and  Pat-^ey  li'eked  on  witli 
stupefied  amazement.  ^Vall  T.ee  alone  re- 
mained stolid  and  nnim])resse(l,  reirardinir 
tli(^  scene  witli  calm  aiid  ti'iana'ular  ey(^s. 

"Will  Vonr  ]\rajesty  see  tke  Ked  I'tovers 
<lance  C 

'•\o,  if  you  ])lease,"  said  Polly,  witli 
gentle  >erionsn(\-:s. 

"Will  Vonr  Majesty  fire  tliis  karrcd  of 
pmpewder,  or  tap  tliis  breaker  of  irroir  ^"' 

'"No.  I  thank  you.'" 

'Ms  there  no  C(Mnmand  ^'oiir  ^lajestv 
would  lay  u])oii  ns  C 

'"Xo,  please,"  said  P<dly,  in  a  failluij: 
voice. 


832     THE    QUE  EX    OE    THE    PIRATE    IfiJ.E. 

^'Ts  thoro  nnvthiiio;  Yonr  jMajesty 
has  lopf  ?  Think  aiiain !  Will  Your 
]\rajesty  dciii'u  to  east  your  royal  eyes 
on  tills'?" 

Tie  drew  from  niuler  his  buffalo  robe 
what  seeiiKHl  like  a  loii£r  tress  of  blond 
hair,  and  held  it  aloft.  Polly  instantly 
recognized  th(^  nnssing-  scalp  of  her  hapless 
doll^ 

"If  yon  please,  sir,  it's  Lady  Mary's. 
She's  lost  it." 

"And  lost  it — Yonr  IMajesty — only  to 
find  something:  more  precions.  Would 
Yonr  ]\rajesty  hear  the  story?" 

A  little  alarmed,  a  little  cnrions,  a  little 
self-anxions,  and  a  little  induced  by  the 
nndg'es  and  pinches  of  her  coni]ianions,  the 
Queen  blnshingly  signified  her  royal  as- 
sent. 

"Enongh.  Bring  refreshments.  Will 
Your  ]\rajesty  prefer  Avintergreen,  pepper- 
mint, rose,  or  acidulated  dro])s?  "Red  or 
white?  Or  ])erha]is  Your  ]\rajesty  will 
let  me  recommend  these  bnlFs-eyes."  said 
the  leader,  as  a  colk'ction  of  sweets  in  a 
h;il  wer(^  ^uduciily  ])r()duced  from  the 
b:!ri'i'l  lab('le(l  ''(jnnpowder"  and  handed 
to  llu,'  children. 


THE    Ql'EEy    OF    THE    PIRATE    JHLE.     333 

^''Tyistcii,"  lie  f'ontiiniod,  in  a  ^Uvucc 
broken  onlv  l)y  tlie  iZ'entle  snekinu'  of  l)nirs- 
eyes.  'vMany  years  au'o  the  old  IJed  Kov- 
ers  ef  these  parts  locked  up  all  their  treas- 
ures in  a  secret  cavern  in  this  nionntain. 
They  used  spells  and  magic  to  keej)  it  from 
being  entered  or  fonnd  by  anybody,  for 
there  was  a  certain  mark  n|)on  it  made  by 
a  ])ecrdiar  rock  that  stuck  out  of  it,  which 
signified  Avhat  there  ^vas  lxdo\v.  Long  af- 
terwards, other  Tied  Tvovers  who  had  heard 
of  it  came  here  and  spcnir  days  and  days 
trying  to  discover  it,  digging  holes  and 
blasting  tunnels  like  this,  l)ut  of  no  use! 
Sometimes  they  thought  they  discovered 
the  magic  marks  in  tlie  peculiar  rock  that 
stuck  out  of  it,  bur  v\dion  they  dug  there 
they  fouiul  no  treasure.  And  Avhy  ?  Be- 
cause there  was  a  magic  spell  upon  it. 
Au<l  what  ^vas  that  magic  spell?  Why, 
tills!  It  could  only  bo  discovered  by  a 
person  who  could  not  ]iossibly  know  that 
he  or  she  had  discovered  it;  who  never 
could  or  would  be  able  to  enjoy  it;  who 
could  never  see  it,  never  f(>el  it,  never,  in 
fact.  kiKuv  anything  at  ;dl  about  it!  It 
wasn't  ;;  dead  man,  it  wasn't  an  animal,  it 
wasn't  a  bab\-  !*' 


334      THE    QUEEy    OF    THE    PIRATE    I^EE. 

''Why,"  said  Polly,  jiim])inj2;  up  and 
('la])j)iiit!,'  licr  hand-;,  "it  was  a  I)(jlly/"' 

"^'our  Majesty's  head  is  level!  Your 
T\Iajesty  has  j^'uessed  it!"  said  the  leader, 
U'l'avely.  "It  was  Your  Majesty's  own 
dolly,  hady  Mary,  who  broke  tli(>  s})ell ! 
AA'hcn  ^t^)ur  JMajesty  eauie  dowu  the  slide, 
lhe  dull  fell  from  your  i>;racious  liaud  when 
vdur  foot  sli])pcd.  Your  Majesty  recov- 
ered Lady  ]\Iary,  but  did  not  observe  that 
her  hair  had  eautiht  in  a  peculiar  rock, 
called  the  'Outcroy),'  and  remained  behind  ! 
When,  later  on,  while  sitting  witli  yonr 
attendants  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel. 
Your  ]\rajcsty  discovered  that  Lady  Mary's 
hair  was  gone,  [  overheard  Your  ]\Lajesty, 
aiid  di~])atched  the  trusty  Step-and-L\>tch- 
It  to  seek  it  at  tlie  mountain  side.  lie  did 
so,  and  fonnd  it  clinging  to  the  I'ock,  and 
lieneath  it — the  entrance  to  the  Secret 
("ave!" 

Palsey  and  Ilickcuy,  who,  failing  to  un- 
derstand a  woi'd  of  this  explanation,  had 
ii'i\-(-ii  tJK-nisel-.-cs  \\\^  to  tjie  nnconslrained 
eiijoyiiient  of  tlie  sv/eels,  begaii  now  to  a[)- 
])reliend  thai  .-fin'.e  change  was  impending, 
and  ]ii'c|)a  1  I'd  'iuv  \\\v,  worst  by  Inistily 
swallowiiig  V,  h:ii  iliev  had  in  their  mouths, 


THE    01  HEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      385 


iliii^  (IcfNiiiu'  eiicliautiiiciit,  and  ax'ttiiiu' 
irii'ls'  f.ii-  >j»rc('li.  Polly,  who  1i;m1  '-In-cly 
rolj.iwcd  tlic  st(jrv,  albeit  with  the  (.'luhel- 
lishiiicnts  (if  111'!'  own  iinac'inalion,  mad" 
!!!■!■  eyes  I'oiiiider  tliau  ever.  A  l)laiid  <iiuk; 
hi'oki'  on  Wall  J.ee's  face,  as,  to  the  cliil- 
d. I'cii's  atiiazement,  ho  (jiiietly  (]is(nigaa'ed 
hiiii-^clf  tVoni  the  u'roup  and  stepped  before 
tlie  leach'r. 

"•Melican  man  ])]onty  foolee  jMcdican 
chillcrn.  Xo  foolee.  C'hina  boy!  China 
boy  l;!iowee  }'ou.  Yon  no  Led  Lofer.  You 
no  J'ilat — yoii  allee  same  Inniud-inan — 
yon  Tio])  JoliiiHon !  Me  >hal)l)ee  yen! 
Yi)]i  di'cssee  ii])  allee  same  as  Led  Lofer — 
but  yon  IjoI)  .Tolm.-on — allee  same.  ]\ry 
jii<lvr  \\ashee  ^\■asllee  f<n"  you.  Yon  no 
[Miyt'c  Inm.  You  owce  him  folty  dolla  ! 
Ale  bliiiii'co  yon  ])illee.  ^'ou  no  ])ayec 
bilh'cl  Yon  say,  'Cbalkec  up,  John.' 
'I'on  say.  'Dinieln',  John.''  T>nt  me  no 
.';ilc]ie(-  folty  <lolla'!" 

.\  roar  of  lani:;hler  followed,  in  which 
e\'cn  the  leader  aj)])arently  forgot  himself 
enon.ub.  to  join.  lint  the  next  moment 
.-pi-inirinu'  to  his  feet  h"  sliouted,  ".llol  ho! 
.\  i  rail  or!  Away  with  liim  to  the  dee])est 
dnnu'coii  lu'iieitili  the  castle  moat  !  '' 


336     THE    QUEEy    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

ITickorv  and  Patsey  began  to  wliimper. 
l)ut  Polly,  albeit  with  a  tremnlons  lip, 
stepi^ed  to  the  side  of  her  little  Pagan 
friend.  "Don't  yon  dare  tonch  him,"  she 
said  with  a  shake  of  unexpected  determi- 
nation in  her  little  curly  head ;  "^if  you  do, 
I'll  tell  my  father,  and  he  will  slay  you ! 
All  of  you — there  !" 

''Your  father!  Then  you  are  not  the 
Queen !" 

It  was  a  sore  struggle  to  Polly  to  abdi- 
cate her  royal  position ;  it  was  harder  to 
do  it  with  befitting  dignity.  To  evade  the 
direct  question  she  was  obliged  to  abandon 
her  defiant  attitude.  ''If  you  please,  sir," 
she  said  hurriedly,  with  an  increasing  color 
and  no  stops,  'Sve're  not  always  Pirates, 
you  know,  and  ^Yan  Lee  is  only  our  boy 
what  brushes  my  shoes  in  the  morning,  and 
runs  of  errands,  and  he  doesn't  mean  any- 
thing bad,  sir,  and  we'd  like  to  take  him 
back  home  with  us." 

''Enough,"  said  the  leader,  changing  his 
entire  manner  with  the  most  sudden  and 
sliameless  inconsistency.  "You  shall  go 
back  together,  and  woe  betide  the  mis- 
creant who  Avould  prevent  it !  What  say 
von,  brothers  ?    "What  shall  be  his  fate  who 


TBE    QFEEN    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.     337 

(lares  to  so])arato  onr  noble  Qiiocri  from  her 
faithful  (^liinoso  henchman  ?" 

''lie  shall  die!"  roared  the  others,  with 
beaminc;  cheerfnlness. 

''And  what  say  you — shall  we  see  them 
home  ?" 

"We  will !"  roared  the  others. 

Before  the  children  could  fairly  com- 
prehend what  had  passed,  they  were  again 
lifted  into  the  truck  and  began  to  glide 
back  into  the  tunnel  they  had  just  quitted. 
But  not  again  in  darkness  and  silence ;  the 
entire  band  of  Bed  Bovers  accompanied 
them,  illuminating  the  dark  passage  with 
th('  candles  they  had  snatched  from  the 
walls.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  at 
the  entrance  again.  The  great  world  lay 
beyond  them  once  more  with  rocks  and 
valleys  suffused  by  the  rosy  light  of  th.e 
setting  sun.     The  past  seemed  like  a  dream. 

But  were  they  really  awake  now  ?  They 
could  not  tell.  They  accepted  everything 
with  the  confidence  and  credulity  of  all 
children  who  have  no  experience  to  com- 
])are  with  tlieir  first  im])ressions  and  to 
wliom  the  future  contains  notliing  imj^os- 
sible.  It  was  without  surprise,  therefore, 
that  they  felt  themselves  lifted  on  the 
L  -Bret  Harte  v-  22 


333     THE    QUEEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE. 

shoulders  of  the  men  who  were  making 
qnite  a  procession  along  the  steep  trail 
towards  the  settlement  again.  Polly  no- 
ticed that  at  the  month  of  the  other  tun- 
nels they  were  greeted  by  men  as  if  they 
were  carrying  tidiiigs  of  great  joy;  that 
they  stopped  to  rejoice  together,  and  that 
in  some  mysterious  manner  their  con- 
ductors had  got  their  faces  washed,  and  had 
bcicome  more  like  beings  of  the  outer  world. 
When  they  neared  the  settlement  the  ex- 
citement seemed  to  have  become  greater; 
people  rushed  out  to  shake  hands  with  the 
men  who  were  carrying  them,  and  over- 
powered even  the  children  with  questions 
tliey  could  not  understand.  Only  one  sen- 
tence Polly  could  clearly  remember  as  be- 
ing the  burden  of  all  congratulations. 
''Struck  the  old  lead  at  last !"  With  a  faint 
consciousness  that  she  knew  something 
about  it,  she  tried  to  assume  a  dignified 
attitude  on  the  leader's  slioulders,  even 
while  she  was  beginning  to  be  heavy  with 
sleep. 

And  then  she  remembered  a  crowd  neai 
her  father's  house,  out  of  which  her  father 
came  smiling  pleasantly  on  her,  but  not 
interfering   with   her    triumphal   progress 


THE    QUEEX    OF    THE    PIRATE    ISLE.      339 

miti]  tlic  loader  finally  clopositcd  lior  in  lior 
niotlicr's  lap  in  tlioir  own  sitting-room. 
And  then  she  rcmcnilx3red  being  "cross," 
and  declining  to  answer  anj  questions,  and 
shortly  afterwards  fonnd  herself  comfort- 
ably in  bed.  Then  she  heard  her  mother 
say  to  her  father : — 

"It  really  seems  too  ridicnlons  for  any- 
thing. John  ;  the  idea  of  those  grown  men 
dressing  themselves  np,  to  play  with  chil- 
dren." 

'^Ridicnlons  or  not,"  said  her  father, 
"these  grown  men  of  the  Excelsior  mine 
have  just  struck  the  famous  old  lode  of 
Rod  ^Mountain,  which  is  as  good  as  a  for- 
tune to  everybody  on  the  Ridge,  and  were 
as  wild  as  boys!  And  they  say  it  never 
would  have  Ix'on  found  if  Polly  hadn't 
turubled  over  the  slide  directly  on  top  of 
the  outcrop,  and  left  the  absurd  wig  of 
that  wretched  doll  of  hers  to  mark  its 
site." 

■'And  that,"  murmured  Polly  sleepily 
to  her  doll  as  she  drew  it  closer  to  her 
breast,  "is  all  that  they  know  of  it." 


INDEX 


I.  ADRIFT  FROM  TWO  SHORES,  ETC. 

II.  A  WAIF  OF  THE  PLAINS,  ETC. 

III.  A  WARD  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GATE,  ETC. 

IV.  TRENT'S  TRUST,  ETC. 

V.  CONDENSED  NOVELS,  ETC. 

VI.  BARKER'S  LUCK.  ETC. 

VII  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP,  ETC. 

VIII.  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS. 

IX.  Oi'ENINGS  IN  THE  OLD  TRAIL,  ETC. 

X.  UNDER  THE  REDWOODS. 

XI.  FROM  SAND  HILL  TO  PINE,  ETC. 

XII.  MR.  JACK  HAMLIN'S  ?IEDIATION,  ETC. 

Xlli.  STORIES  IN  LIGHT  AND  SHADOW,  ETC. 

XIV.  TALES  OF  TRAIL  AND  TOWN. 

XV.  THREE  PARTNERS. 

XVI.  TALKS  OF  THE  ARGONAUTS,  ETC. 

XVII.  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

XV III.  CL.\RENCE,  ETC. 

XIX.  THE  BELL  RINGER  OF  ANGEL'S 

XX.  A  PROTEGEE  OF  JACK  HAMLIN'S,  ETC. 

X\I.  SALLY  DOWS,  ETC. 

XXII.  A  FIRST  FAMILY  OF  TASAJARA,  ETC. 

XXIII.  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S  CLIENT,  ETC. 

XXIV.  CRESSY.  ETC. 

XXV.  A  SAPPHO  OF  GREEN  SPRINGS,  ETC. 


Adventures  of  John  Long- 
bow,  Yeoman,   v. 

Adventure  of  Padre  Vi- 
contio.    The,    xvii. 

All  Baba  of  the  Sierras, 
An,    ix. 

Ancestors  of  Peter  Ath- 
erly.   The,  xiv. 

Angel's,  The  Bell  Ringer 
of.    xix. 

Apostle  of  the  Tules, 
An,    i. 

Argonauts  of  North  Lib- 
erty,   The,    xiii. 

At  the  Mission  of  San 
Oarniel,    xvi. 

Baby   Sylvester,   xvi. 

Balcony,    From   a,    xvii. 

Barker's    Luck,    vi. 

Boy's   Dog,    A.    xvii. 

Belle  of  Canada  City, 
A.    xi. 

Bell  Ringer  of  Angel's, 
The.   xix. 

Biographical    Sketch,    viii. 

Blue  Grass  Penelope,  A. 
xvi. 


Bohemian     Days     in     San 

Francisco,    x. 
Bohemian    Papers,    vii. 
Bolinas    Plain,    .Judgment 

of,  xiv. 
Boom    in    the    "Calaveras 

Clarion,"   The,    xii. 
Boonder,   vii. 
Broker,     The     Devil     and 

the,  xvii. 
Brown    of    Calaveras,    vii. 
Buckeye     Hollow     Inheri- 
tance,   A,    ix. 
Bulger's     Reputation,     vi. 
By   Shore   and   Sedge,    i. 
"Calaveras    Clarion,"    The 

Boom    in  the,    xii. 
Captain    Jim's    Friend,    iii. 
Cartjuinez  Woods,   In  the,  ii. 
Charitable    Reminiscences, 

x\  ii. 
Chntelnine         of         Burnt 

Ri(ig(>,    The,    xxv. 
Christmas  Gift  that  Came 

to    Rupert,    The,    xvii. 
Cliu    Chu.    xix. 
Clarence,    xviii. 


340 


INDEX. 


341 


Colonel  Starbottle  for  the 
Plaintiff,   i.\. 

Colonel  Starbottle's  Cli- 
ent,  xxiii. 

Complete  Poetical  Work.s, 
V  i  i  i . 

Coiiden.sed    Novel.s,    v. 

Condensed  Novels,  New 
iJurlesQue,   v. 

Conspiracy  of  Mrs. 

Bunker,    The,    xxi. 

Convalescence  of  Jack 
Hamlin,    The,    iv. 

Convert  of  the  Mission, 
A.    vi. 

Cressy,    xxiv. 

Crusade  of  the  Excelsior, 
The,    iv. 

Dan'l    Borem,    v. 

Desboroush  Connections, 
The,    xiii. 

Devil  and  the  Broker, 
The,    xvii. 

Devil's    Ford,    ii. 

Devil's  Point,  The  Leg- 
end   of,    xvii. 

Devotion  of  Enriciaez, 
The,    vi. 

Dick  Boyle's  Bu;;;ness 
Card.    iv. 

Dick  Spindler's  Family 
Christmas,    xii. 

Dolores.     Mission,     vii. 

Dows,  Sally,  x.xi. 

Drift  from         Iledwood 

Camp,    A,    xxi. 

Dweller  of  the  Threshold, 
The,    v. 

Episode  of  Fiddletown. 
.'\ii,    xvi. 

Episodic  of  West  Wood- 
lands,   .An,    XX. 

Esmeralda  of  Rocky 
Canon,    An,    xii. 

Fantine,    v. 

First  Family  of  Tasajara, 
.\.    xxii. 

Flij),    xxii. 

Flood  and  Field,  .Notes 
by.    vii. 

Fool  of  I'ive  Forks,  The, 
X  \'  i . 

Fo<)t-Hills.  A  Knight  Er- 
rant   of    tlie,     iii. 

Fool -Hills,  .\  .Mercury  of 
tlie.    ix. 


Foot-Hills,    Two    Saints  of 

the,    i. 
Ford,    Devil's,    ii. 
Found     at     Blazing     Star, 

x.xiii. 
Four     Guardians     of     La- 
grange,  The,   XXV. 
Prom  a  Back  Window,  vii. 
From   a   Balcony,   xvii. 
From    Sand    Hill    to   Pine, 

xi. 
German        Si)ion,        Views 

from   a.   xxiv. 
Ghosts  of  Stukeley  Castle, 

The,    xxiii. 
Goddess  of  Excelsior,  The, 

ix. 
Golden    Gate,    A    Ward    of 

the,    iii. 
Golly    and    the    Christian  ; 

or,     the     Minx    and    ttie 

Manxman,    v. 
Great    Deadwood    Mystery, 

The,   xxiv. 
Green    Springs,    A    Sappho 

of,    XXV. 

Guy    Heavystone,    v. 

Hamlin,  .lack.  The  Con- 
valescence  of,    iv. 

Hamlin's,  .lack.  A  Pro- 
tegee of,    XX. 

Hamlin's.  Mr.  .Jack,  Medi- 
ation,   xii. 

Hanilsome  Is  as  Hand- 
some   1  >ries,    V. 

Haunted     .Man,    The,    v. 

Heiress  of  Red  Dog,  An, 
xxiv. 

Heir  of  the  McHulishes, 
The,  XX. 

Heritage  of  Dedlow 

.Marsh.    The,    iii. 

Heavystone,    Guy.    v. 

Hisli-Water    Mark.    vii. 

Hollow  of  the  Hills,  In  a. 
vi. 

Homecoming  of  .lim 

Wilkes.    The,    xx. 

Hoodlum    Hand,    The,    1. 

How  I  Went  to  the  Mines, 
ix. 

How  Old  Man  Plunket 
Went   Home,   xvi. 

How  Reuben  .A.]len  ''Saw 
Life"  in  San  Fran- 
cisco,   x. 


342 


INDEX. 


How  Santa  Claus  Came 
to   Simpson's   Bar,   xvii. 

Idyl  of  Red  Gulch,  The, 
vii. 

Iliad  of  Sandy  Bar,  The, 
xvii. 

In  a  Hollow  of  the  Hills, 
vi. 

In  a  Pioneer  Restaurant, 
xxiii. 

Indiscretion  of  Elsbeth, 
The,    vi. 

Ingenue  of  the  Sierras, 
An,  XX. 

In  the  Carquinez  Woods, 
ii. 

In  the  Tules,  vi. 

Jack  and  Jill  of  the 
Sierras,  A,  xl. 

Jack  Hamlin's,  A  Pro- 
tegee   of,    XX. 

Jack  Hamlin's,  Mr.,  Medi- 
ation,  xii. 

Jack  Hamlin,  The  Con- 
valescence  of,    iv. 

Jeff   Briggs's    Love    Story, 

XX. 

Jenkins,    John,   v. 

Jersey      Centenarian,      A, 

xvi. 
Jimmy's        Big        Brother 

from  California,  x. 
Jinny,   i. 

John    Chinaman,    vii. 
John  Jenkins,  v. 
John     Longbow,     Yeoman, 

The    Adventures    of,    v. 
Johnnyboy,    xix. 
Johnson's    "Old    Woman," 

xxiii. 
Judgment        of        Bolinas 

Plain,   xiv. 
Knight      Errant      of      the 

Foot-Hills,   A,   iii. 
"La  Fomme,"  v. 
Landlord       of       the       Big 

Flume    Hotel,    The,    ix. 
Lanty     Foster's     Mistake, 

ix. 
Laurel     Run,     The     Post- 
mistress  of,    xxiii. 
Lee,   Wan,  the  Pagan,  xvi. 
Left    Out    on     Lone     Star 

Mountain,   xvi. 
Legend    of    Devil's    Point, 

"The,  xvii. 


Legend      of      Monte      del 

Diablo,   The,   xvii. 
Legend  of  Sammtstadt,  A, 

xxiv. 
Liberty     Jones's     Discov- 
ery, xii. 
Light  and  Shadow,  Stories 

in,  xiii. 
Lonely  Ride,  A,   vii. 
Lothaw,   V. 
Luck    of    Roaring    Camp, 

The,   vii. 
Madrono       Hollow,        The 

Romance  of,   xvii. 
Maecenas    of     the     Pacific 

Slope,   A,   XXV. 
Man    and    Mountain,    The, 

xiii. 
Man     at    the     Semaphore, 

The,    xii. 
Man    from    Solano,    The,  i. 
Man    of    No    Account,    vii. 
Man  on  the  Beach,  The,  i. 
Man     Whose     Yoke     Was 

Not   Easy,   The,   i. 
Maruja,    i. 
Mary   McGillup,   v. 
Melons,   xvii. 
Mercury      of      the      Foot- 

Hills,  A,  ix. 
Mermaid      of     Lighthouse 

Point,   The,   x. 
Miggles,  vii. 
Millionaire  of  Rough-and- 

Ready,   A,   ii. 
Mines,     How     I     Went    to 

the,   ix. 
Mission    Dolores,    vii. 
Mission    of     San    Carmel, 

At  the,   xvi. 
Miss   Peggy's  Proteges,  ix. 
Miss    Mix,    v. 
Mr.   Bilson's  Housekeeper. 

xi. 
Mr.    Jack   Hamlin's   Medi- 
ation, xii. 
Mr.    John    Oakhurst.    Pas- 
sage in  the  Life  of,  xvi. 
Mr.    MacGlowrie's   Widow, 

iv. 
Mr.     Midshipman    Breezy, 

V. 

Mr.  Thompson's  Prodigal, 
xvii. 

Mrs.  Bunker,  The  Con- 
spiracy of,   xxi. 


INDEX. 


343 


Mrs.    Skaggs's    Husbands, 

xvii. 
Mix,   Miss,   V. 
M'liss,   vii. 

Morning  on  the  Avenue,  i. 
Mother  of   Five,   A,   vi. 
Mucli-a-Muck,    v. 
>Iy    First   Book,   xix. 
My   Friend,    the   Tramp,   i. 
Mystery   of   the   Hacienda, 

The,    xix. 
My    Suburban    Residence, 

xvii. 
Neighborhoods       I       Have 

Moved  from,  xvii. 
New     Assistant     at     Pine 

Clearing     School,     The, 

xxiii. 
Niece  of  Snapshot 

Harry,   A,  xi. 
Night  at  "Hays,"  A,  xxiii. 
Night     at     Wingdam,     A, 

xvii. 
Night    on    the     Divide,     A. 

xiv. 
Ninety-nine       Guardsmen, 

The,  V. 
N.    N,    V. 

North   Liberty,  The  Argo- 
nauts  of,    xiii. 
Notes  by  Flood  and  Field, 

vii. 
No   Title,   V. 
Onice-Seeker,    The,    i. 
Ogress     of     Silver     Land, 

The,  xvii. 
Old     Trail,     Openings     in 

the,   ix. 
On    a    Vulgar    Little    Boy, 

xvii. 
On  the  Frontier,  xvi. 
Openings       in       the       Old 

Trail,    ix. 
Outcasts     of     Poker     Flat, 

The,   vii. 
Out  of  a  Pioneer's  Trunk, 

xxiii. 
Padre    Vicentio,    The    Ad- 
venture  of,    xvii. 
Passing   of    Enriquez,  The, 

xiii. 
Peter     Atherly.     The     An- 
cestors  of,    xiv. 
Peter    Schroeder,    xxv. 
Phyllis  of  the   Sierras,  A, 

xxi. 


Pioneer  Restaurant,   In  a, 

xxiii. 
Pioneer's    Trunk,    Out    of 

a,    xxiii. 
Pirate   Isle,    The   Queen  of 

the,  xxii. 
Poet   of   Sierra   Flat,   The, 

xvii. 
Poetical    Works,   viii. 
Poker   Flat,    The   Outcasts 

of,  vii. 
Postmistress      of      Laurel 

Run,    The,    xxiii. 
Princess      Bob     and     Her 

Friends,   The,   xvii. 
Prosper's     "Old    Mother." 

iv. 
Protegee     of     Jack     Ham- 
lin's.   A,    XX. 
Proteges,      Miss      Peggy's, 

ix. 
Pupil    of    Chestnut    Riage, 

A,    iv. 
Queen    of   the   Pirate    Isle, 

The.    xxii. 
Red    Dog,    An    Heiress   of, 

xxiv. 
Redwoods,    Under    the,    x. 
Reformation       of       .James 

Reddy,    The,    xx. 
Reincarnation     of     Smith, 

The,    ix. 
Ride.    A    Lonely,   vii. 
Right     Bye    of    the     Com- 
mander,   The,  vii. 
Robin    Gray,    Young,    xix. 
Roger    Catron's    Friend,  i. 
Romance        of        Madrono 

Hollow,    The,    xvii. 
Romance      of      the      Line, 

A,    X. 
Rose      of      Glenbogie,      A, 

xix. 
Rose    of    Tuolumne,    The, 

xvi. 
Rough-and-Ready,   A  Mil- 
lionaire   of,    ii. 
Ruins    of    San    Francisco, 

The,    xvii. 
Rui)ert    the   Resemblor,    v. 
Sally    Dows.    xxi. 
Salomy    .lane's    Kiss.    xiii. 
Sammtstadt,   A   Legend  of, 

xxiv. 
Sand   Hill   to  Pine,   From, 

xi. 


844 


INDEX. 


Sandy  Bar,    The   Iliad   of, 

xvii. 
Sandy    Bar,    Two   Men    of, 

xii. 
Santa         Clara         Wheat, 

Through    the,    xxv. 
Sappho  of  Green   Springs, 

A,   xxv. 
Sarah    Walker,    i. 
Sehroeder,   Peter,   xxv. 
Secret        of        Sobrieute's 

Well,    The,    xii. 
Secret   of   Telegraph   Hill, 

A,    iii. 
"Seeing  the   Steamer  Off," 

xvii. 
See  Yup,  xiii. 
Selina  Sedilia.  v. 
Sheriff    of     Siskiyou,     The, 

xix. 
Ship   of   '49,   A,    i. 
Sidewalkings,   xvii. 
Sketches,    vii. 
Sleeping    Car    Experience,, 

A,    i. 
Snowbound    at    Eagle's,   ii. 
Starbottle,      Colonel,      for 

the    Plaintiff,    ix. 
Starbottle's    Client,    Colo- 
nel, xxiii. 
Stolen  Cigar  Case,  The,  v. 
Stories       in       Light       and 

Shadow,   xiii. 
Story    of    the    Mine,    The, 

xviii. 
Strange       Experience       of 

Alkali  Dick,   The,  xiv. 
Surprising    Adventures    of 

Master     Charles     Sum- 

merton,   xvii. 
Susy,      a      Story     of      the 

Plains,    vii. 
Tale     of     Three     Truants, 

A,  xiv. 
Tales    of    the     Argonauts, 

xvi. 
Tales  of  Trail   and  Town, 

xiv. 
Tennessee's    Partner,    vii. 
Terence    Denville,    v. 
Thankful    Blossom,    i. 
Their     Uncle     from     Cali- 
fornia,  xxi. 
Three    Partners  :    or.    The 

Big     Strike     on     Heavy 

Tree  Hill,   xv. 


Three  Vagabonds  of 
Trinidad,    x. 

Through  the  Santa  Clara 
Wheat,    xxv. 

Tourist  from  Injianny,  A, 
xi. 

Transformation  of  Buck- 
eye Camp,  The,  xxi. 

Treasure  of  the  Galleon, 
A,   xxiii. 

Treasure  of  the  Red- 
woods,   A,    xi. 

Trent's   Trust,   iv. 

Tules.    In    the,    vi. 

Twins  of  Table  Moun- 
tain,  The,  xxiv. 

Two   Americans,    xiv. 

Two  Men  of  Sandy  Bar, 
xii. 

Two  Saints  of  the  Foot- 
Hills,    i. 

Uncle  Jim  and  Uncle 
Billy,    xiii. 

Under  the  Eaves,   x. 

Under    the    Redwoodu,    x. 

"Unser    Karl,"    xiii. 

Venerable  Impostor,  A, 
xvii. 

Views  from  a  German 
Spion,    xxiv. 

Vision  of  the  Fountain, 
A,   X. 

Vulgar  Little  Boy,  On  a, 
xvii. 

Waif   of   the   Plains,   A,  ii. 

Waiting  for  the  Ship, 
xvii. 

Wan   Lee,  the  Pagan,   xvi. 

Ward  of  Colonel  Starbot- 
tle's,  A,    iv. 

Ward  of  the  Golden  Gate, 
A,    iii. 

What  Happened  at  the 
Fonda,    xi. 

When  the  Waters  were 
Up    at    "Jules,"    xii. 

Widow  of  Santa  Ana  Val- 
ley,   X. 

With    the    Entrees,    i. 

Yellow   Dog,    A,   vi. 

Young  Robin   Gray,   xix. 

Youngest  Miss  Piper, 
The,   X. 

Youngest  Prospector  on 
Calaveras,  The,  xiv. 

"Zut-Ski,"   V. 


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